Home Is Where The Heart Is
by Fenrir's Daughter
Summary: As Spinner recovers from his ordeal, Vert has his own problems to deal with: Janet Wheeler will be released from Brush Hollow Psychiatric Hospital in ten days, and the old house needs cleaning. In the madness that ensues, can Vert's friends forgive him for keeping this secret? Can Spinner forgive his friends for failing to save him in time? And just how much can Tezz drink, anyway?
1. Skeletons in the Closet

A/N: I know I said my next fic would focus on Spinner, but this one has been screaming at me for the overall plot arc of my BF5 stories. As per usual, my first chapter may seem to be a bit all over the place. I think I just have trouble getting started sometimes. But as it's planned, this story will be angsty the first chapter, then screwy as a squirrel in the second, and then kind of heartwarming in the third. Try it! You'll like it.

EDIT: Fixed a continuity error! Sherman found out about Vert's mom in Spinner's Day Out. Whoopsies!

* * *

"There's nothing wrong with being scared, Spin," Agura soothed. "You've just been through something really traumatic. Recovering is gonna take some time."

Spinner whimpered, rubbing at his eye as the pair of them walked down the hall; ever since his run in with Deputy Roy Cash—or the worst week of his life, as he would forever remember it—the elder Cortez refused to let any of the guys within ten feet of him. He even balked away from his brother, who he knew would never hurt him, afraid of any and all men. Agura and Sage were the only ones he trusted at the hub now.

"I just feel so stupid," he sighed. "You guys are my friends; I should be able to trust you all. But I-I-I just keep hearing his voice and I can't s-stop shaking and I…I know it's dumb and I'm still freaking out!"

Agura sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile. "Everyone's afraid of something, Spinner." She paused. "Don't laugh, okay? I never told anyone this, and I'm gonna trust you to never breathe a word about it."

"What?"

"I'm afraid of clowns." Agura inhaled sharply, holding her breath, waiting for Spinner to make fun of her. Undoubtedly, the prankster would relish this information and use it against her at some point, but desperate times call for desperate measures and her concern for her friend outweighed her need to be cool. The huntress braced for impact.

He stared at her blankly for a moment, not even cracking a smile. "Okay, yeah, I see why you'd be embarrassed of that," Spinner said, shrugging his shoulders.

Agura blinked in confusion. "Wait, what? Seriously? No sneering? No threats of blackmail? No hysterical laughter?"

Spinner shrugged again and gave a world-weary 'seen-it-all' frown. Lately it took a lot to get a reaction out of him unless Roy Cash was mentioned. The gamer was emotionally drained from his ordeal. It was only four days ago that his teammates had arrived in the nick of time to rescue him from an attempted second rape at the hands of the sheriff's deputy, but they had been two days too late to stop the first. The damage done was a kind that sometimes never healed; a brutal rending not just of the body, but of the mind and soul. If he would agree to see a psychiatrist, Agura was almost certain Spinner would be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But though Spin was falling apart, he refused to seek professional help. He was broken and ashamed, blaming himself like so many other victims before him.

Christ, this was serious! If Spinner was uncaring enough to leave such an opportunity for humiliation untouched, he was losing the will to live! This was not the Spinner she knew!

"Well, like, I mean, you're afraid of something that's generally considered a rational thing to fear," Agura hurriedly blathered. "A lot of people are ashamed of their fear, but only some of them have a reason to be ashamed. Like me, because of the whole clown thing. But after what happened it's perfectly reasonable—you've got nothing to be ashamed of, Spin."

Spinner cast his eyes down at the floor. "I still feel pretty dumb about it," he whispered.

Agura bit her lip, wondering what else she could do. She was unsure of how best to help, but she could not very well leave the elder Cortez to his own devices, certainly not when he was feeling so down. If something happened to him, she would never forgive herself.

"Well," she said. "There are people who should and _do_ feel just as dumb, if not dumber, about their silly little fears. Like, uh…"

Agura trailed off, looking around; she and Spinner had arrived in the kitchen, which was already occupied. Just as he had several times in the past few days, Spinner tensed, turning deathly pale. The gamer had always been prone to panic attacks, but one thing about them had changed recently: in the past four days, he had not once fainted, almost as if he were afraid of what he would wake up to. But Agura still stepped in, all smiles, taking control of the situation to keep him calm.

"Hey, boys. Having lunch? Cool." She grabbed half a ham sub from the sandwich platter on the counter. Just like always, Agura had slipped in and blended perfectly. The huntress never let them see her sweat; she was the picture of perfect confidence. For a few minutes she bantered back and forth with her teammates about the difference between American Rules football and European Rules football, each arguing their opinion as to why which was superior and ignoring the fact that Australian Rules football was infinitely more awesome. But then she got this funny little smirk on her face and interrupted AJ's train of thought. "This might seem a little off topic, but have any of you guys ever had, like, an irrational phobia of something?"

AJ chuckled. "That's a weird thing to ask. Why you wanna know about that, Agura?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, rolling her eyes and discreetly gesturing towards Spinner. AJ looked the elder Cortez over, seeing how he edged further behind Agura as his brother tried to grab his attention. When she was sure AJ had caught her drift, the huntress shrugged. "It's just a question, AJ. What's the matter? Too scared to tell us what you're scared of?"

AJ paused, thinking it over while Stanford and Zoom catcalled at him. He sighed.

"Well," he finally said. "When I was real little, my cousin Adrian and I went to the kitchen to have a snack, and his face started swelling up. He stopped breathing and they took him to the hospital… He nearly died. Turns out he's allergic to nuts."

"Are you allergic, too?"

"I dunno. I was too scared to ever try them. Peanuts, walnuts, almonds, pecans, hazelnuts—? No, thank you! I'm good."

"Wow," Agura said, nodding. "That's pretty wild, huh, Spinner? A daredevil like AJ being so scared."

AJ blushed. "I know, it's silly…"

"Oh, it's not _that_ silly compared to Tezz's abandonment issues," Stanford grinned.

Tezz looked guiltily up from his pizza, waving modestly at the elder Cortez. Tezz felt like there was nothing he could ever do to make it up to Spinner for not believing him about Roy Cash, but they would invariably have to work together. It was crucial he repaired their relationship, he knew, and not just to his conscience but also to the team's mission. For this reason he did not argue about the previously mentioned abandonment issues of his, merely sulking and nodding.

"I _was_ trapped on a moon for ten years," he rationalized.

"Oh, that's your excuse for everything…"

"Hey, it makes sense that he'd develop strong attachments to the people who rescued him," AJ said, defending his lover. "Poor little guy, all alone on that desolate planet, no way of ever knowing if he'd see his home world again, giving up on ever seeing another human before he dies—which he thinks is probably soon. Imagine having nothing to look forward to but absolute solitude and the cold embrace of death."

Tezz threw his arms around AJ, squeezing perhaps a little tighter than he should have. "Please don't leave me," he squeaked, a terrified look on his face.

Stanford chuckled maliciously. "Aw, is poor ickle Tezzykins fwightened of being all on his lonesome? Poor sweet baby and his psychological problems…"

Zoom smirked. "Dude, like you're one to talk with your inferiority-superiority complex. I so totally hate it when you act like you're better than everybody, and then you turn right around and act like this lonely pathetic little boy and want everyone to pity you. Are you snobby royalty or the team's Eeyore? Pick a side already! This is getting ridiculous!"

"It's not my fault!" Stanford whined, insisting as always that someone else was to blame. "Mumsy always liked Simon best! It's worse than ever now; since the murder it's like he's this perfect ideal I can never live up to in her eyes. 'Simon was ever so charming;' 'Simon was so handsome,' 'Simon had a lovely fiancée!' Never mind that Simon was in porn or on drugs or a goddamned vampire, Mumsy STILL likes him best and my name might as well be _mud_ for as much as she seems to care about me. BLOODY HELL."

Zoom regarded him. "Almost sounds to me like you're scared she doesn't love you."

Stanford deflated, his eyes shining. "Oh my god, it's true. She doesn't love me! Mother doesn't love me! WAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Well, this was awkward. What had started out as a way to assure Spinner that he had nothing to be ashamed of was quickly turning into a session of group therapy, the huntress thought. Yet Spinner had failed to comment on any of his friends' misgivings. Come to think of it, Spinner had been almost completely silent…

Agura turned around, cursing softly. Spinner was gone.

* * *

Vert agonized with indecision as he paced back and forth in his room. The truth was going to come out eventually. He had already hinted to a number of his teammates, though he failed to divulge the exact details. But soon enough, Sherman or Tezz would put two and two together and finish the puzzle. After that, it was only a matter of time before his secret was out.

As the leader of the Battle Force 5, Vert Wheeler knew he owed it to his teammates to be truthful with them. Maybe there was a chance they would be unshaken, but Vert's personal problems could affect his leadership skills. His entire life was about to be turned upside down and he had so little time left before it all came crashing down around him. He had to spit it out, but this was a delicate truth. Terrified as he was, Vert could not just come out and say it. It was a long story that required a lot of explanation, one he feared his friends would not understand or approve of. How was he supposed to segue into it? As fate would have it, though, Vert did not have to think very long or hard. His team soon gave him the solution without even knowing.

The blonde rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks as he noticed the distressed gamer standing before him.

"Um, hey Vert," Spinner said meekly, taking a step back and hanging his head in submission.

Vert smiled gently, trying to keep his movements even so as not to spook the boy. Spinner was acting pretty broken, as far as the blonde could see, and the last thing he wanted was to make things worse. "Hi, Spinner. How are you?"

The gamer shifted his weighted from foot to foot. "Alright, I guess." He paused. "Kinda scared, actually. About the trial."

Vert furrowed his eyebrows but tried not to frown too hard. "If you don't want to testify, no one's going to force you. We'll protect you."

"No," Spinner said, taking in a shuddering breath. He shook his head. "I know I have to take the stand. A lot of people are counting on me. I'm not the only one Cash hurt." He shivered, wiping at his eye. "I just don't want to have to look at him. If I see him I'll panic and choke, I know it. The case depends on me. I have to talk, but I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can, Spinner." Vert moved to put a hand on the gamer's shoulder, but pulled back and instead scratched the back of his skull. Spinner was still very skittish about physical contact with human males and there was no point in upsetting him more. "You can do this. The Battle Force 5 will be right there with you the whole way."

"Yeah, and so will the other victims." Spinner shook his head to clear it. "I have to do this. For them. No matter how scared I am."

Vert smiled. "There's nothing wrong with being scared, Spinner. As long as you don't let it control you."

Spinner returned his smile. He knew Vert was right. These were things the elder Cortez had been telling himself for days, but it helped to finally be able to say them out loud. He knew not why he was unable to open up to Agura in such a way, but at least he had finally gotten it off his chest. Still, there was something that bothered Spinner.

"Hey, Vert?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"You ever had something you were afraid of that seemed really stupid, no matter how many times everyone else said it was okay?"

Vert turned pale, rubbing the back of his head and looking away. When he glanced back, Spinner was watching him with eyebrows raised. Well, he had wondered how to tell them all; this seemed like a good enough way to bring it up. The blonde swallowed. "Why, uh, why would you ask that?"

"We were talking about it in the kitchen. AJ's scared of having an allergic reaction, and Stanford's afraid his mother doesn't love him." He paused. "Oh, and Agura's scared of clowns."

"Good to know. I'll have to remember never to ask her to the circus."

"But what about you?"

"Ahem, well. Uh, why don't we go into the kitchen and I'll tell everyone. It, um, it kind of concerns all of us."

* * *

When Vert and Spinner entered the kitchen, the group had come around to Zoom; the Muy Thai warrior set his face in a mask of resolve, diligently explaining his own fears.

"Ice. I hate ice." He shivered, recalling the experience, the horror of which that had burned into his psyche at so young an age. "I was in the mountains with a man and a woman. I'm not sure if they were my parents, but I guess they must have been. It was so long ago I can't even remember how old I was; three, maybe four. And it was cold…_so_ cold. Not like little winter in the foothills cold. Mountains have a different cold, a cold that's been there forever. The kind of cold that never ends; it just goes up higher and waits for next winter. If you're not prepared for that kind of cold, you wind up dead." Zoom shivered again, his voice getting quiet. "I never want to be that cold again."

Agura shivered right with him; she had a taste of something like that when she and Stanford had a run-in with a yeti. "What happened to the couple?"

Zoom shook his head. "I don't know. I woke up at the monastery. Master Takeyasu wouldn't tell me what happened. …I guess they're dead."

"You don't seem too broken up about it," the huntress commented.

"I was a kid," Zoom said, shrugging. "What could I do? You find a way to move on, or you're stuck out there in the cold… Forever."

There was a murmur of agreement.

"That's rough," Vert said. "I'm sorry, Zoom."

"Meh, I'll be okay. What about you, Vert? What are you afraid of?"

Sherman put down his drink. "Oh, see, now, _this_ will be interesting. I don't recall ever seeing you scared of anything, so it's probably something deep."

Vert froze. "So, you guys have just been in here having lunch and bonding by sharing your deepest fears? That's cool. Looks like we're running low on soda, though; I better go to the store and—"

"Oh, no you don't," Spinner said, blocking his way. His face had relaxed into an expression of cool indifference; the gamer stood there, annoyed, and kept his leader from escaping. "You said you'd share. It's time to put your money where your mouth is and quit being a wussy."

"I am not a wussy!" Vert cried indignantly. In the Titus side of his family, that was a far greater insult than anyone could imagine. It implied that the subject was not just a coward, but a simpleton for bringing such pain onto himself through his own recklessness and less than a man for being unable to deal with the consequences. Nobody, but _nobody_ called Vert a wussy. "Look, I just… It's not something I like to think about. I know I have to deal with it, and soon, but I… I'm scared."

"Everyone's scared of something, boss," Spin said. "What are you afraid of?"

Vert sighed, putting his face in his hands and mumbling incoherently.

"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"I'm afraid I'll go crazy!" Vert blurted out. "Like, what if I'm in a mental institution right now? What if I'm in a straightjacket and heavily medicated and this entire war has been a nightmare I can't wake up from? What if I killed my parents and you're all just voices in my head and I'm alone?"

"Who, hey, Vert, bruh, CHILL." AJ took his bewildered and now hyperventilating best friend by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Deep breaths, dude. Deep breaths. You good? Great. Now slow down and start from the beginning."

Vert gulped. "My dad's family has a high suicide rate. My mom's relatives are all paranoid gun nuts. And alcoholism and substance abuse runs in both sides." He ran his hands through his hair. "You guys saw the Titus genes in action. Mental illness is in my blood; I could snap at any time."

"You're not going to go crazy, Vert," Agura assured him.

"You can't know that!" Vert said. "It happens. After Dad le—no, disappeared. Dad disappeared and Mom…she went off her rocker. They diagnosed her with paranoid delusional schizophrenia, but by then it was too late. She'd already tried to kill a cop in broad daylight!"

All this time their leader had been holding this in. How long had he refused to tell that he was hurting? How deeply did the pain go? Vert never spoke of his mother, ever; most of the BF5 thought she was dead. Stanford found the courage to speak. "How long after that did she pass on?"

Vert set his jaw, taking a deep breath. "Mom's not dead," he said. "She's in Brush Hollow."

There was a chorus of gasps, but Spinner only nodded. Madame Wise Raven had told him as much before. If his teammates knew, they certainly were not acting like it, but the shock value had worn off for him.

"I stopped visiting her after I met Sage," Vert admitted sheepishly. "I guess I was scared they'd see I was into something weird and want to keep me there." He paused and smiled. "I started going back, though, after we found my Dad in the Clockwork Zone. Mom's made a lot of progress. She taking her medication, cooperating with the doctors; they're even planning on letting her out soon."

"Uh, Vert, bruh? Just how soon are we talking here?"

The blonde smiled apologetically. "About ten days from now."

The kitchen erupted into shouts. Why the hell had Vert hidden this from them for so long? Had he not realized what an impact hiding such a thing would have? Yes, of course he was ashamed, but having a new person their leader was suddenly responsible for would endanger the team's secret. The Battle Force 5 could not afford to cause panic and chaos by revealing the existence of otherworldly beings—not now at least; perhaps if they were in peace time it would be feasible. But while they were at war they could not let the government or anyone else interfere with their operations. What had Vert been thinking, keeping this from them?

"Guys, chill! _Seriously!"_ he insisted over the cacophony. "We've managed to keep the secret this far; we don't have anything to worry about. And I hate to say it, but if Mom sees anything she shouldn't, we can just write it off as a hallucination…and… And send her back."

Grumbling from his teammates was the only answer.

"Look, I'm sorry! I know this is really sudden! I only found out they were releasing her four days ago." Vert sighed. "I'm sorry I kept this from you guys; you have every reason to be upset. But I can't make it up to you right now. I've got to get the old house cleaned up and ready for when Mom comes home and I'm going to be very busy. Until further notice, Agura is in charge."

Vert turned on his heel and exited the kitchen, leaving his teammates to ponder the day's events.

* * *

A/N: Read and review, people. It brings me joy.


	2. Spring Cleaning

A/N: To **turtled** in regards to your confusion, the "Titus genes" refers to a crossover I wrote called "Dysfunctional Family Values" that links Vert's family to the Titus family of the long cancelled "Titus." It was a very dark sitcom starring comedian Christopher Titus. You can read it either by checking my profile or the crossover section. And that show is also where I get the "quit being a wussy" thing from. But yeah, "Seeing the Titus genes in action" meant that Vert's friends met his Uncle Chris and Papa Titus and saw how messed up they were.

For best effect on the chase scene, have "Yakety Sax" cued up on Youtube and press play right when Stanford says "I say, this calls for some chase music!"

* * *

Vert stepped across the threshold and surveyed the damage. It had been quite a while since he had stepped foot in the old family home, and every surface was covered with dust. The first order of business was to open every window in the house and let out all of the stale, musty air. After that, he could take an allergy pill, haul the shopvac up from the basement and get to work on the dust. He would have to vacuum EVERYTHING—not just the floors, but _everything._ The blonde had never imagined there was so much dust in the world.

The leader of the Battle Force 5 let out a forlorn sigh. Man, this was going to suck. He mentally went over his checklist again; dusting looked like it was shaping up to be an insanely bigger chore than previously imagined, but there was still the matter of washing all the linens and the curtains, scrubbing the bathrooms and the kitchens, and checking that the wiring and the plumbing were still up to code. He would need to get better locks for the gun safe; he could not bring himself to sell the weapons inside, but the last thing he needed was his psychologically questionable mother fiddling with firearms. He would have to do something about the roadrunner infestation, which had gotten out of control in his absence. When all of this was done, Vert would clean out the three car garage attached to the house and tune up the old white muscle car in the property's garage.

The one chore he wanted to put off as long as possible, of course, was the matter of his father's favorite chair.

Jack Wheeler's beloved recliner was ugly as sin. There was just no way around it. The chair was upholstered in a hideous sort of tweed that was composed of mostly light browns, with strands of dark brown, bright orange, and the occasional random blue or green woven in. The stuffing was coming out in places, and had been 'fixed' with duct tape. Even before his disappearance his wife had wanted to get rid of it. It was obnoxious, she said. It was dreadful! How could Jack love such a thing? Jack's invariable response was that the chair was not ugly but had character, and that it was super comfy besides. Now that Jack was known to be alive and planning to return after the war with the Reds was over, Vert thought he should maybe keep the chair. Then again, Janet had always hated it and Vert wanted his mother to be happy…

Just as he was beginning to consider taking the pug-ugly recliner out behind the house and burning it, Vert heard the approach of engines. The blonde walked out onto the porch.

The Battle Force 5's remaining six vehicles pulled up to the house at 7 Hollow Road and parked, the blonde's friends each piling out of their cars. Vert was confused at first that his compatriots would all be showing up just then; he had hid the truth from them, and they had every reason to be upset. He had resigned himself to solitude, so sure that the seven youths would abandon him to find the error of his ways. But here they were, each surveying their new surroundings; Stanford pulled the Reverb close to the house in case they needed music, AJ and Zoom were kicking around in the dust and checking out the expansive yard that surrounded the old house. Tezz seemed to be fascinated by the specimens of _Geococcyx californianus_ that darted back and forth across the ground, circling around Spinner and nipping at his heels with their sharp little beaks. Sherman smiled weakly at his brother, who chuckled nervously and shied back towards Agura with his feathered friends; Spinner was getting better, but he had a long way to go. Agura, for her part, paid the gamer just enough mind to make him feel safe, but mostly she was focused on Vert. With a quiet cough, the huntress proved herself worthy of being the blonde's trusted lieutenant and brought the boys into line.

"Hey, fellas," he greeted sheepishly. Agura, Zoom, AJ, Stanford, and the Cortez brothers surrounded him with stern but forgiving looks, though Tezz managed to keep a completely neutral expression. Vert chuckled and waved, trying to ease the tension. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think we'd leave you out here by yourself?" Agura asked. "It's a big house, Wheeler, and you're a messy guy. You'll need all the help you can get."

"Wait, we're here to clean? Spinner said we were going to cheer him up and get drunk!"

"Can it, Stanford!"

Presently Vert's smile faded and he wilted beneath their collective gaze. "Look, I'm really sorry I didn't tell you all before. I know I had no right to hide that from you, but honestly… Aw, Christ, this is going to make me sound like a complete asshole, but I seriously never thought Mom would get better. I thought they'd keep her locked up f-forever and I would never… I don't know what I was thinking. Please, can you ever forgive me?"

"Nope!" Stanford said, turning on his heel to strut back to the Reverb before his big Canadian friend grabbed him by his ear and dragged him back. "Ow! OW! OWIE OW OW!"

"It's okay, Vert," AJ assured him, still holding the Brit in place. "You were scared. We understand."

"Yeah, Vert, everyone's afraid of something!" Spinner quipped dryly. "Look at me, I'm afraid of everything."

Vert looked at his shoes, quiet. The group had shared a bonding moment, and he had walked away. "Yeah, alright," he said, still feeling guilty. "Thanks, you guys. For everything."

AJ smiled, keeping his grip on Stanford. "Hey, what are friends for?"

Vert and Agura shared a smile and he graciously took back command. "Okay everybody, easy on the horseplay, try not to break any knick-knacks, and above all else, do **not** touch the gun cabinets. Spin, fair warning, I forgot to clean out the fridge before we moved into the hub; you'll want to avoid the kitchen."

Spinner shuddered, backing away, and hilariously enough was followed by those quick little roadrunners. "Ew. Yeah, thanks for the heads up."

"Tezz, check the wiring. Make sure everything is up to code."

"With all due respect, Captain, I believe I can do much better than 'up to code," Tezz haughtily replied.

"Agura," Vert began, but suddenly he paused, tripping over Spinner's feathered friends and falling flat on his face with a yelp. Three little birds ran up and pecked on his forehead before darting away behind Spinner, who in turn hid behind Agura again. "Ugh, you're the animal expert! Do you think you could do something about these damn roadrunners?"

Agura smirked. "Roadrunners may be one of the few natural predators of the rattlesnake and the tarantula wasp, but they're harmless little things to humans. Why even worry about them?"

"Because they are _legion,_ Agura," he said, gesturing to the porch; on cue, twelve or so roadrunners popped out from beneath the wooden steps, honking and chattering. "They are _annoying._ And it just so happens that around here… _They attract coyotes."_

Vert's friends gave him a skeptical look. The tale of the coyote and the roadrunner, two trickster foes locked in an epic duel of wits for all eternity, was something manufactured by _Looney Tunes._ Everyone knew these two animals were not truly mortal enemies. They were just two species that happened to coexist in the Southwestern United States and parts of Mexico, _not_ rivals.

A chorus of howls sounded from nearby, causing everyone to jump.

"Hey-so-you-know-that-perfectly-good-house-we-could-be-safely-inside-right-now?" Spinner asked feverishly. Another howl sounded and he yelped, bolting through the door. The little roadrunners that had been following him squawked and ran after the screaming gamer. Upon seeing their young feathered friends scurry after Spinner, a number of older specimens chased after and into the house.

Vert ran up the steps, screaming obscenities as he peaked through the door. Looking back to his team, he demanded, "You gotta help me get those feathered bastards out of there!"

He considered himself fortunate not to have had to deal with roadrunners since moving into the hub. Almost a full two years had he been able to get a good night's sleep without having to listen to the senseless squawking and chattering that echoed through the night, answered by lonesome and hungry howls; two _blissful_ years of relaxing days off where no speedy little birds would run up and peck on the window and distract him, or zip up next to him on the porch and steal his snacks. And the moment they saw him, what did they do? They started kicking up dust all over the place and ran straight into his house—the house he grew up in, the house that was legally in his name now. **_HIS_ **house.

Seeing his friend grow so irritated that steam seemed to be coming out of his ears, Stanford grinned and pulled out his smart phone. "I say, this calls for some chase music!" With a flick of the wrist, the Reverb's entire library was at his disposal, and he chose an old song classically used for chase sequences decades before…

_Yakety Sax_ blared from Reverb's speakers as the Battle Force 5 tore after the accursed little birds that Vert _hated_ with such a passion. The blonde barreled through the house, taking leave of his senses. Each teammate followed a roadrunner in a different direction, chasing down hallways and through doors in a haphazard fashion until they were all so turned around they seemed to go in a door on one side of the hallway and come out of a room on the other. The confusion was so great that Vert stopped completely, chiding himself; he had only caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, right? But no! It was Anti-Vert, clad in black leather pants and a red t-shirt with an inverted pentagram, his mascara running from sweat.

"Roadrunners?" Vert asked in confusion

"Fucking roadrunners!" Anti-Vert confirmed.

Vert looked at him in distress; at some point, in his bird-fueled rage, the leader of the Battle Force 5 had picked up a hammer. But now, looking back and forth between the weapon in his hand and the vicious, evil alternate universe version of himself, he realized the stupidity of his anger. "Here," he said, tossing the hammer to his dark reflection. "You need this more than I do."

Anti-Vert caught the hammer with ease, grinning madly. "Thanks!" he said, turning to go back where he came from. "TIME TO DIE, YA FEATHERY BASTARDS!"

Grabbing a pillowcase from the linen closet instead, Vert ignored the mad cackling and continued the chase.

Agura was not exactly having great luck with the roadrunners, either. In her frustration at being unable to match the bird's speed—adult greater roadrunners often clocked in at over forty miles per hour—she was fast losing her patience. She had already lost her balance and run into walls or furniture multiple times. Big game she could handle, but she felt like a dumb tomcat sprinting after a clever mouse in an old Warner Brothers cartoon. Eventually, she snapped and roared, hefting Vert's sword around like it was nothing. As she ran after a particularly large bird she passed Tezz in the hall; the usually stoic young man yelled angrily in Russian and shot bolts of electricity from his glove at three frantically squawking roadrunners. The next moment Sherman jumped across her path wearing a safari helmet and wielding a fishing net, chasing the birds that seemed to multiply.

The Wheeler residence at Number 7 Hollow Road was filled with madness and chaos, each and every youth within losing their patience and letting loose their rage until the point of exhaustion. Yet never once did any of them manage to catch a bird. One by one, they slunk back to the living room, dog-tired and slouching on the musty old furniture.

"Oh, man," Zoom whined, laying over the hideous, duct-taped recliner. "What the hell was with the hallways? I felt like I was in an episode of Scooby-Doo."

"I'm pretty sure I found a portal to the Evil Force 5's dimension in the upstairs bathroom," Sherman mentioned offhandedly. "We should probably take care of that at some point."

"I never imagined I would be outsmarted," Tezz huffed tiredly from his spot splayed out in AJ's lap. "Let alone by a species so much lower on the evolutionary tree."

Vert grumbled from where he sank into the couch—a couch he thought at that moment to be the squishiest and most comfortable couch in the history of couches. "Okay, so today was a bust," he said, yawning. "Let's just save the cleaning for tomorrow."

The room itself seemed to sigh with relief.

"But we still need to get the roadrunners out of the house."

The room itself seemed to groan in disgust.

* * *

After some time, the friends realized they were missing one, and eventually found Spinner curled up and napping in the guest bedroom with all of the roadrunners—EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. They followed him everywhere, as if he was their ridiculous looking king.

"The heck is that about?" Vert muttered, watching in awe as the gamer was able to quietly lead the birds from his house like the Pied Piper.

"Roadrunners are fast, but not very bright," Agura replied. "His hair kind of looks like their head crests. Really, that's the only explanation I can come up with."

"Still weird as hell," the blonde contended.

Nonetheless, the team still finally found it mildly amusing to see the elder Cortez march at a merry little pace to lead the birds away. With happy chirruping and honking the roadrunners finally followed Spinner out to the edge of the yard, where he gently shooed them away. The smallest one hopped back over to him, honking.

"No, Mr. Squawkers, you have to go now," Spinner whispered.

Mr. Squawkers honked sadly, nuzzling the gamer's leg. Spinner sighed and bent down to pet him.

"I know it's not fair," he said, ruffling the runt's feathery head crest. "But we're from two different worlds, Mr. Squawkers. You belong in the wild." He sniffled and wiped a tear from his eye, watching sadly as the little bird trotted a few feet away and stopped, turning to look back at him and squawk, unsure. "Be free, Mr. Squawkers!" Spinner encouraged, waving goodbye. "Be free."

Taking one last look at Spinner before he crossed over the horizon, Mr. Squawkers cooed and chattered a fond farewell. And with that, the littlest roadrunner ran off to join his fellows.

The elder Cortez returned to his own friends, misty-eyed. "They grow up so fast," he mused, smiling regretfully.

Agura rolled her eyes. "You are such a sap…"

* * *

A/N: LOL Agura, you're just jealous there's one animal you have no luck with! Read & review, my friends!


	3. Painting a Picture

A/N: Yayz! Chapter times! And I know Kgirl1 is going to appreciate that I added MOAR VERGURA to the mix. Hopefully, the descriptions of Vert's Mom's wilder days won't seem too out of place; I have trouble with characters talking behind other characters backs, especially when the cahracter's yet to be introduced. Oh, and bonus points to anyone who can correctly identify the metal bands I named: of the five mentioned, which are real, which are from media, and which did I make up?

* * *

After another two days spent mostly at the Wheeler house, Vert was confident that they would make quick work of it. And he was right; between the eight of them, the dust and grime of two years was all but defeated. They would have already been done, were it not for the latest storm shock interrupting them. It was just your average exotic realm populated by oddly colored ponies; weird as hell, but relatively peaceful. Nothing they were not capable of handling. Soon enough, they were back to the grind, happy to assist dear Vert in his quest to have the house absolutely perfect for his mother's return.

It made the work light and cheerful for Vert as he sorted laundry towards the back of the house. His mother was coming home, and with any luck, his father would be back, too, and they could all be a family again. Finally, he would be able to find that semblance of a normal family's functionality he always wanted. Never mind what Uncle Chris said about dysfunctional families being the norm, he just wanted his parents to be happy together so he could live his life without worrying about them both so constantly. Vert wanted his father to come home and be his usual, cocky, wise-cracking self. He wanted to see his mother paint again—even the thought of her cleaning her guns made him misty-eyed.

The blonde had never allowed himself to miss them. He had a life to live, and later a mission to accomplish; there was no time to wallow in self-pity about his mommy and daddy being gone. But here and now, knowing they were both so close and yet so far, made Vert sink in defeat all over again. Janet Wheeler was returning home, but what of Jack? Where was he? Would they be able to find him after the war was over? There were still so many things that could go wrong, and it killed Vert to know there was so little he could do about it.

But Janet _was_ coming home, and soon. Vert was still worried about his father, but he had to push that back. He had to be responsible and prepare a safe environment where his mother could become accustomed to company again.

"Need any help?"

Vert looked up, suddenly startled to see Agura sliding up next to him to help with the folding.

He smiled. "Yeah, thanks," he said softly.

Sometimes, having his friends around was the only thing that made Vert's situation tolerable. He wondered, how had he once thought he could go it alone? How in the name of all that was holy had he, Vert Wheeler, managed to live alone, with so few friends and contacts, and what few good friends he had being so far flung? How had he managed to wake up every day without seeing Agura's adorable, confident smirk? The very same one, as a matter of fact, that she was giving him right now. Alone. In a room far from the others. Just the two of them.

Vert looked away as his ears turned red. He knew getting involved with a teammate was a bad idea for a lot of different reasons, but these thoughts kept popping up. He adored the dark-skinned huntress, the athletic tomboy who helped to keep the team in line. But as much as he wanted her, Vert believed himself to have been friendzoned, and dared not make a move. Instead, he continued to fold and let her start the conversation.

"So, just a week until your mother gets here," Agura stated rather than ask. "That's a big change, having a civilian so close."

"Not _that_ much of a change," he insisted. "Zoom's managed to keep Grace in the dark."

"Yeah, but this is different." The huntress raised her eyebrows. "Grace is his on again/off again girlfriend; we hardly even notice her, and she's too busy worrying about her cousin the vampire slaying psycho-bitch to care what we're up to. This isn't just some lady, she's your mother; she's going to actively worry about you and wonder where you and your 'employees' disappear to all the time. When your dad gets back, your mom's going to want to know where he's been. And your dad might even tell her the truth."

Vert bristled. "I don't want to tell her about the BF5 if I don't have to. She's a mess as it is; telling her we fight aliens will only upset her."

"Have you thought about how upset she'd be if you lied to her about what we do and she found out anyway?"

He paused, thinking.

"Come one, Vert," Agura pleaded. "You can't have meant what you said about putting her back in that awful place."

The blonde's shoulders sank. "I don't want to do it, but Sherman says Sentient tech is a little fuzzy on erasing people's memories when they have mental problems. They could hurt her." Vert swallowed. "There's really no other choice. If… If it means protecting you, I'll do what I have to."

Agura failed to notice he meant 'you' as in her in particular, assuming he meant 'you' plural as in the entire team. "We can protect ourselves, Vert. You know the team would never force you to have your own mother committed. Give us some credit here! We're not evil—well, Stanford's kind of a dick, but even _he's _not that bad."

Vert sighed, tossing the hand towel he had picked up back into the basket. "No, I guess they wouldn't do that. But…" He paused, shaking his head. "I'm still not so sure about telling her."

Agura frowned and crossed her arms. "I want to tell you honesty's the best policy here," she said. "But then again, if she's been, um, away for so long, I suppose it could be rather shocking." The huntress paused, thinking. She really needed to be better informed to help Vert make the right decision.

The washer buzzed, signaling that the linens were ready to be changed over. Vert practically dove into the old machine, pulling out a set of bed sheets and a duvet cover and stuffing them into the dryer. He added fabric softener and chose the right setting before putting the next load in the wash and moving back to finish folding the towels.

"What's she like?"

Vert looked at her from the corner of his eye, not putting down the large, fluffy, deep green towel. "Different," he said carefully. "At least to me, she always seemed different. Creative, but an odd duck, y'know?"

Agura picked up a towel as well, smirking. It was not much to go on, but at least it was a start.

Now that the towels were neatly folded, the leader and the huntress walked to the upstairs bathroom in silence. Sherman had finished checking the entire second floor for any kind of special anomalies just a few hours earlier, concerned as he was by what would forever be known as the Scooby-Doo Doors incident. Whatever had allowed Vert's evil alternate universe counterpart to slip through, the younger Cortez had taken care of it without any trouble. The house now had a one hundred percent guaranteed lack of portals to other dimensions. Thankfully, it also had a lack of roadrunners, which Vert was grateful for. With the towels now put away on a shelf in the bathroom, which no longer had a portal to an evil alternate universe lurking behind the shower curtain, Agura and Vert made their way back downstairs just in time to hear Stanford laugh derisively.

"Poison?" he sneered. "Whitesnake? Oh for crying out loud, Vert, your parents have awful taste. All of these records are so _commercial_. There's some good stuff in here, too, like Van Halen and Bruce Springsteen and Alice Cooper, but wtf, mate? What's with the cheesy eighties hair metal? I can forgive the Aerosmith, but it looks like your mum fancies pretty little John Bon Jovi!"

Vert snickered. "Actually, most of those albums are Dad's. Mom keeps her stuff in the art room."

At this statement, Stanford raised his eyebrows. "Art room, you say? I've been here nearly two days and this is the first I've heard of an art room. Perhaps my assessment of how cultured your family is was a tad premature. Let's have a look, eh, what? I'd love to see this art room of which you speak."

"You might have noticed the art room if you'd actually been helping clean instead of bossing people around," Spinner muttered with a roll of his eyes, continuing to polish the bannister.

"I was not bossing you around," Stanford said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I was _delegating,_ as a member of the ruling class is meant to do. Now, what about this art room, Vert? I really should like to see it."

"Oh, should you?" Vert asked, mocking his friend's upper-class accent.

"Oh, yes, old boy, ever so!"

Agura snickered, but she straightened up when the boys turned to look at her. "I'd like to see it, too, actually," she said. "You seem pretty blue collar. What have you got an art room for?"

Vert regarded the two carefully, deliberating. "Mom paints. I mean, she was a painter. Y'know, before…" He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, this way."

"A painter, you say?" Stanford asked with enthusiasm. "Oh, how lovely!"

"What kind of paintings?" Agura enquired.

"She used a realistic style but she likes fantasy subjects. Some of them are kind of weird. Art's, uh, not really my thing… Oh look, here we are!"

Vert had led his friends to the one room in the back of the house that had barely been touched beyond a little basic dusting. Vert had insisted everything stay in its current position, as his mother's controlled chaos was not to be disturbed. Having things lightly messy like this, the tubes of paint strewn about, and the half-finished canvas in the corner, it felt as if she had never left. Everything was in exactly the same place, except for one single painting.

The creepy painting. The one with the giant squid thing and the man in the black suit.

Vert shivered; he was glad he had sold the accursed thing. If Madame Wise Raven could stomach having it around, more power to her. He was happy to be rid of it.

"Interesting," Stanford murmured, inspecting the partially finished canvas still on its easel. From what was painted there, the subject had been a slim black man in his late teens or early twenties. Not very much paint graced the canvas, but from what he could make out of the sketch on the clean bits, the young man was dressed in a three piece suit and reaching up with one hand to pluck the heart from a beast that flew overhead. Fascinated, Stanford moved to the finished paintings that hung on the wall, and was suddenly overcome with disappointment. They must have been only reproductions; he recognized them as heavy metal album covers, but he assumed Janet got them because she liked the pictures.

"Well," he said, turning on his heel. "What about your mother's music? You can tell a lot about someone by their favorite music, and we'll need to know what to expect of your mum once she's arrived home."

"That's actually a really good point!" Agura said. "Good thinking, Stanford!"

Vert sighed and pointed to the older, worn out, paint-splattered stereo in the corner on a wooden case. Stanford and Agura eagerly knelt down to the shelf below and opened the glass doors to shuffle through the old records. Agura failed to recognize anything, though she was put off yet very intrigued by the titles and vivid covers. Stanford on the other hand, had much more to go on.

As a DJ, Stanford needed to know **what **was popular with _whom_ and so, even though he did not _like_ any of these artists particularly well, he still knew who they all were. Janet's records were arranged chronologically, as if they were still in the order in which she purchased them. The older albums were mostly 1970s hard rock; the softest piece in the collection was _A Night at the Opera_ by Queen. Where on average he would have found Led Zeppelin or the Who, there was old school chick rock like The Runaways and Suzi Quatro. Once he got to about 1984, however, things started getting weird. Stanford had expected to find more of the soulless glam metal that populated her husband's collection, but the records here became more obscure, more disturbing. The royal stared at the first album he pulled for a full minute, before frantically taking out the rest of the albums and flicking back and forth between them all.

"No way," he said. "You have _got_ to be kidding me. Vert, mate, why didn't you tell us your mum's a Satanist?"

"She's not a Satanist!" Vert snapped defensively.

"Vert, these are some of the most brutal, most extreme metal bands of the eighties and nineties! Frost Axe, Clinical Lycanthropy, Dethklok—is that a sodding Skull Fragment album? The guitarist and the bassist beat the drummer into a coma and left him on the sidewalk in front of a hospital when he asked if they could play one of his songs! When he got better, he staked them through the heart with sharpened drumsticks and then ate their bodies 'so they wouldn't come back to life.'" He looked around him in obvious distress. "She's even got prints of some of them on the walls!"

"Actually," Vert corrected, "Those are the original paintings. Mom was commissioned to create the album art for Death Knell Records in the eighties. Copies of the records were just included with the thank you notes and royalty checks."

Stanford sighed with relief. "So she's not a devil worshipping metalhead. Your mum was only in it for the money! Thank goodness! I was worried she was actually into these groups for a second, there."

"Mom moved to LA for the metal scene," Vert said. "She said being able to sell her paintings was just a bonus. She never really cared how much money she made; she did it for the art."

Stanford frowned in dismay. "Am I correct in assuming she came back to Handler's Corners for love?" When Vert nodded, Stanford continued. "What did she do once she was here with your father?"

"She was the art teacher at Handler High."

Agura looked at some of the albums—the ones that were _not_ covered in realistic depictions of gore. War horses exhaling fire as they galloped through graveyards with gallant heroes astride them, muscular but buxom women with battle axes posing triumphantly atop a mountain of skulls, and finally what appeared to be a monstrous wolf devouring an entire star. They were not what Agura would call her cup of tea, but she had to admit they were well done. The compositions and color schemes were flawless, and every detail was beautiful in a disturbing way. But with such unusual and often eerie subject matter, how had Janet Wheeler been allowed anywhere near schoolchildren? As normal as Vert seemed most of the time, Agura had assumed his family could not possibly be so bad as he claimed. But now, seeing these paintings his mother had created, she wondered how no one had suspected her of being mad before it was too late.

"Man, how did they not know she was crazy before?" she muttered.

"What was that?"

"Oh! Um, I was just wondering how you mother's condition deteriorated to the point where she was locked up," Agura stammered. "You don't have to answer, never mind. It's not important. Um."

"Mom…" Vert looked away, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "She tried to kill Roy Cash."

Both Agura and Stanford dropped the records they were holding and stared at their friend.

"She just missed Dad too much. It was killing her to be without him, and she got desperate. She didn't think the cops were doing a good enough job. She thought they were after us, that everyone was against her," Vert said sadly. "She couldn't hold it together. She thought the deputy was responsible for whatever happened to Dad, and… Well, Grandpa was a Marine; he taught her how to fight and the quickest ways to subdue a man. And she—it was nuts! She just dragged him into town square and started shouting like a maniac, holding a knife to his throat the whole time while she was making demands. It's a freaking miracle Sheriff Johnson didn't shoot her."

"So that's why they put her away," Agura concluded. "She was a danger to herself and others."

"Excuse me," Stanford interjected. "But why in the seven hells are they letting her out?"

"Because it was _Roy Cash,"_ Vert emphasized. "You know, the local serial rapist? She was right about him being dangerous, and she's apparently harmless as long as she's taking her medication. So, Sheriff Johnson cut her a break."

"But Vert—"

"Just fucking roll with it, Stanford!"

Stanford hunched his shoulders, pouting at his sudden scolding. Vert sure was short on patience lately. "Just saying it seems a bit risky," he muttered, putting his hands up in a placating gesture.

Vert glared and refused to admit that he agreed. It was true his mother seemed to have recovered, but schizophrenia was a degenerative disease; she had plateaued for now, but over the years, Janet would get worse and worse with no end in sight. Maybe she would self-destruct, or perhaps she would end up back in a padded cell for the rest of her days. This was the best he could do for now. All Vert could hope for was to enjoy the time he had left with her, because one day, she would be gone. If they were lucky, she would be able to manage her disorder with medication and therapy until she got to a ripe old age and passed away. But if Vert considered the facts, things looked very grim. Janet had a history of violence and came from a violent family, and her doctors categorized her delusions as 'persistent.'

Vert wanted more than anything to have his mother home and well by the time his father arrived, but the strong possibility that so many things could go so horribly wrong gave him pause.

"Hey, knock-knock," Spinner whispered, ducking into the room and quietly closing the door behind him. "You guys mind if I hide in here for a bit?"

Vert looked up, happy for the distraction. "What's up, Spin?"

"Goddamn Tezz keeps hovering over me," Spinner muttered bitterly. "I thought Sherman was getting overprotective, but Tezz is a total mother hen. Seriously, like it's going to make up for…" He trailed off and glowered out the window.

Agura gave him a sympathetic smile. "He's probably trying to figure out how to apologize, Spinner."

"So say the words! It's not that hard to pronounce the word 'sorry,' even with a Russian accent. Hell, he loves big words! He could say something like 'I would like to express my deepest apology!' Or 'please forgive me for recklessly abandoning you, Spinner; I will endeavor to take your beliefs more closely into consideration in the future!'"

"Pump your brakes, Spin," Vert said sternly. "I bet he's scared how you'll react. Maybe if you give him some kind of sign that things are okay between you two—"

"Well, they're not fucking okay!" Spinner shouted suddenly. "Friends are supposed to _listen_ to each other when their concerned about stuff, not write them off as an attention-seeking **liar!"**

For a moment the elder Cortez saw flashes of offense in Vert's and Stanford's eyes, and he froze.

_Relax, Spin. Relax. There are only two boys in the room, and both are your friends. Vert would never hurt you. He tried to help you; he tried to save you __**RUN TO THE HILLS RUN FOR YOUR LIFE**__ from the bad man. Stanford is a wimp; even you could take him __**RUIN HIS HAIR GEL HE'LL RUN AWAY DO IT DO IT DO IT NOW**__ in a fight. Agura is here to protect you. Breathe, Spinner. Breathe. They're only trying to help._

Spinner sat down carefully in the chair in front of the easel, his head lowered. "Sorry," he squeaked.

Vert eyed him with concern, but Agura stopped him before he could go over to the younger boy. Instead she comforted Spinner, keeping Vert and Stanford away from him, and the leader of the Battle Force 5 was forced to give his advice from a distance.

"You know if Tezz had any idea what was going on, he would have helped you," the blonde gently reminded him. "But he didn't know, Spin. No one did. Cash is a monster, but he's a polite one. He had everybody fooled. Please, don't blame Tezz for this. It's not his fault."

Spinner sighed. "I know, okay? I know…" He shook his head, burying his face in his hands.

Vert raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Do you think you can forgive him?"

There was a long pause while Spinner deliberated before answering. "Not yet. Let him stew in it a while." He glared. "I wanna see him squirm."

"Spinner…"

"I know, it's a creepy thought! I just… I'm just so ANGRY sometimes I want him to hurt as much as I do." He put up his hands in defeat. "I know it's wrong, so don't even say anything. Just, _please, _let's talk about something else now, like…" Spinner looked around the room for something to talk about. "Like why there's a framed photo of Nathan Explosion from Dethklok on your mom's desk."

Agura and Stanford ogled the picture of the pale, incredibly enraged looking man with broad shoulders, green eyes, and long black hair. Vert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Over the years he bought some of her freelance stuff for his gallery. He sent the picture later."

Stanford leered and grinned. "Who's the saucy dish on his arm? Check out the rack on her! I'd like to bake _her _scones! Mee-yow!"

Vert ground his teeth. "Stanford."

"Yes, Vert?"

"That's my mom."

Stanford paused momentarily before he suddenly blurted out, "You know, I had never understood the American concept of MILF before just now. Vert, do you think you could—OW!"

Spinner and Agura watched nonchalantly as the pair of idiots ran from the room, presumably to reenact the Scooby-Doo Doors incident.

"They look like they're coming back?" Agura asked dryly.

Spinner poked his head out the door. "Nope." He grinned. "Wanna see if we can find Vert's baby pictures?"

"Hell yeah!" Agura said, squealing with girlish delight.

Out in the hallway, Vert shuddered, overcome by a sudden feeling of unease.


	4. Annoyance & Punishment

A/N: My internet's been down for a while, so I've actually had time to write when I would usually distracted by hilarious internet articles. It's been pretty great. I've actually got the next chapter finished and am working on the chapter after that, but I just want to double check the fifth chapter a few things before I jump the gun and post it right before changing my mind about the plot. And by "changing my mind" I mean "adding more drunken misadventures." Read and review, and PLEASE if you get a chance and it's not too much trouble, look at my Buffy crossover featuring rogue slayer Faith Lehane. "Gaining Faith" needs more love.

* * *

Tezz never meant to hurt Spinner.

As a man of science, it was in his nature to come to analyze information available when confronted with quandaries or conundrums. When Spinner had come to them for help, insisting that the former deputy Cash had hurt him, Tezz had quickly deemed that there was insufficient evidence to confirm such a notion. Of course, looking back now, there was insufficient evidence to prove Spinner wrong.

Tezz sighed. The intelligent thing to do would have been to investigate further to find such evidence. He had let his poor opinion of Spinner's trickster nature color his judgment. It was true the Russian had never really warmed up to the elder Cortez, someone so silly and impractical. But it broke his heart to see that whimsical, carefree nature torn away so violently. Spinner was hurt, and it was his fault.

Trying to put it out of his mind, Tezz noticed the short cabinet in the corner of the dining room. It occurred to the genius that he had no idea what was inside. It was true that Vert had warned them to stay away from the gun cabinets, but this cabinet was solid and truth be told, Tezz had no idea if it was a gun cabinet or not. He knew it was a bad idea, but curiosity getting the better of him, Tezz walked over to the cabinet.

He turned his head from side to side; there was no one around. Reaching out, the ebony haired youth discovered the cabinet to be unlocked. Cautiously, he opened the door and peered inside.

This was not a gun cabinet, Tezz realized, but a liquor cabinet. Bottles of bourbon, scotch, gin, and rum stared out at him, showing off their labels. The Russian was burdened by guilt over something he knew was not his fault and tired from a long day's work, and he mused to himself that he could use a good stiff drink…

* * *

The last half hour or so Spinner and Agura had spent rummaging through the art room had proven fruitless. Based on how much the room seemed like Mrs. Wheeler's personal study, the pair had hoped to discover some of Vert's baby pictures tucked away somewhere; they had no luck in their venture.

"Maybe they'd have some family photos in the living room or something," Spinner said after a while. "We've been in here forever and all I've found are more art supplies and some creepy sketches. You get anything interesting?"

"I found a deck of tarot cards, some crystals, a smoked mirror, and a book about poltergeists." Agura ignored Spinner's pouting at having been outdone. "I found a diary, too, but I don't think we should be—"

"Gimme that!" Spinner demanded, snatching the book from the huntress's hands. In roleplaying games, diaries were almost always _super_ important clues relevant to the plot, and the elder Cortez was a huge believer in life imitating art. Quickly he found the page that was last written on and flipped back to the beginning of the entry, reading aloud. "Listen to this! _'September 4__th__—It's been eight months since I escaped his dimension, but I can still feel the taint of Cthulhu deep in my soul. I wish he had killed me rather than curse me like this. As if it weren't bad enough that my husband is gone, I can hear people talking in town, and I'll hear what they're saying but also what they would never say to my face. Sometimes even when I'm in bed alone at night, I can still hear them. They pity me; they think I'm some poor pathetic wretch. But not all of them. Deputy Cash laughs at me. There's something awful lurking inside of him. I don't know if he's the same kind of monster as the slender man, the same kind of monster Cthulhu made me, but I know one thing for sure. He IS a monster. Cash has to be stopped, whatever the cost.'"_

"Oh my god, she's completely batshit insane."

Spinner shook his head. "But she knew. She still knew. How was Mrs. Wheeler that crazy and _still _the only one who could tell about… About him?"

"Wait, did that say 'dimension?'" Agura asked, taking the book back. "Yeah, right there: _'eight months since I escaped his dimension.'_ Do you think Mrs. Wheeler maybe found a storm shock like Vert's dad did?"

Spinner shrugged. "I dunno, I guess anything's possible. Maybe we should read the rest of it, just to see what's up."

Agura held the diary out of Spinner's reach. "No, _I'll_ read the rest of it," she insisted as the gamer jumped and stretched to grasp the book. "Sherman says you have enough nightmares as it is."

Spinner fumed. "Fine, but don't tell Vert. He'll be pissed."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Agura replied, hiding the diary in her hoodie as they exited into the hall.

In the corridor, Agura thought she could hear some shouts in the distance and the sound of a struggle; Vert and Stanford must have taken their problems outside. From the absence of the others, the rest of the guys probably went after them to watch. Nonchalantly, Agura and Spinner made their way to the living room to continue their search for baby pictures, but what they saw gave them pause.

Grinning sloppily and giggling like a school girl, Tezz Volitov was curled up on the floor with a bottle of Jack Daniels that looked to be mostly empty in one hand. The alleged genius used his other hand to turn the pages of a large book marked "Baby's First Year."

"Heheh, spaghetti on his little face," he muttered, snickering to himself. Amused, he turned the page, and this time his laughter was louder and more obnoxious. "Naked on a bear-skin rug! Haha, classic!"

Agura approached carefully, trying not to upset Tezz; she had never been around the Russian when he was drinking, and she did know if she could count on him being a friendly drunk. "What you got there, Tezz?" she asked in a gentle, patronizing sing-song voice.

"The Captain!" he exclaimed loudly, trying to hold in his laughter. "W-with the chubby little cheeks and the silly outfits! Look at his first Hahahaha-HALLOWEEN! HA!"

Agura took the book that was offered to her, so curious she did not even scold Tezz when he polished off the last of the Jack and broke out the Southern Comfort.

"Is… Is that…? Pfffttt, ohmigod, that is so CUTE! Hahaaaaa!" Agura snickered and waved the older Cortez over. "Spinner, you gotta see this!"

Curiosity getting the better of him, Spinner cautiously eased over to where the huntress stood, making sure she was between him and Tezz. He peered down at the page. There, in full color, was a positively adorable little baby with blonde hair and big blue eyes, and—as Tezz had pointed out—chubby little cheeks. The child looked to be around seven months old and had been dressed in a lobster costume. The "sweet little lobster baby" was in turn being carried around in a soup pot by a man in a chef's uniform—a man who looked too much like Vert, from his handsome face to his cocky smile, to be anyone but Vert's father.

"That is the absolute cutest thing I've ever seen!" Spinner gushed. "And I once saw a group of kittens and puppies taking a nap together!"

"Sweet little lobster baby," Agura cooed. "We have to show the guys!"

"No, wait, wait," Spinner said, waving her away. "Don't show them or tell them anything. In fact, hide the book."

"Aww, but why?" Tezz whined.

"Mrs. Wheeler's going to want to catch up with some old friends," Spinner intoned. "I think I should show her how to use Facebook… So she can show these pictures off to the entire internet."

Agura scoffed, lightly slapping at Spinner's arm with a playful laugh. "You are such a jerk!"

With Tezz snickering like mad they sequestered Baby's First Year away in the cabinet beneath the china hutch and wandered outside to see what the boys were fussing about.

* * *

Agura expected to see AJ, Sherman, and Zoom standing off to the side and cheering as Vert and Stanford fought it out like macho idiots—or more than likely, Vert kicking Stanford's ass like a macho idiot. After all, Stanford had seriously overstepped his boundaries. Even she knew that, no matter how friendly you were with someone, no matter how far you thought you could go and be forgiven, you never _ever_ make sexual comments about your friend's mother. It was just something one should never do, and Stanford should have realized that.

Then again, Vert Wheeler, despite his fiery temper, could be very level headed when it came to his friends. Just as much as the huntress expected Vert to flip out on the redhead and give him a royal beating, there was just as much of a possibility he would calm down after a bit of a chase and proceed to _lecture_ Stanford into submission. The blonde was a strong leader and fully capable of keeping his anger in check when the need arose. There was really no way of knowing whether Vert would try to teach Stanford a lesson literally (with his leadership skills) or metaphorically (with his fists). But the fact of the matter was Vert was going to teach Stanford a lesson one way or another. Agura knew Stanford was going to get disciplined for what he said.

What she was unprepared for was the extent and manner of his punishment.

Stanford Isaac Rhodes struggled fruitlessly as he was taped down to the hood of his car by his neck and waist. His forearms were duct-taped together behind his back, and Vert was holding the roll. The blonde looked down and sneered unrepentantly, even as the royal pleaded with his eyes.

"Oh, come now, Vert! I meant it as a compliment!"

Vert reached in through the Reverb's weird combination door and moon roof, tuning the stereo until he found a classic rock station.

"Use the presets!" Stanford demanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Stan," Vert said in a mock-sincere voice. "Does it bug you when I touch your stereo?"

"Yes!"

Vert smiled. "So, does it bug you when I touch…the horn!?" he asked, laying his hand down on the steering column. Stanford cursed loudly at the ungodly noise that filled his ears worse than any vuvuzela, and renewed his efforts to struggle against the tape. Vert smiled coldly at Stanford, his hand hovering over the horn.

"Does this bug you?" **HONK** "Does this bug you?" **HONK** "Does this bug you?"** HONK** "Does this bug you?" **HONK**

Agura rolled her eyes. "So much for Vert being an adult about this."

Vert laughed and left the roll of duct tape balanced on top of Stanford's head, strolling back to the porch to sit with his friends. Zoom offered his captain a big high five, and even Sherman had to chortle. But friendly AJ had his reservations.

"I dunno, bruh," he said uneasily. "This seems kinda harsh. What did he even do?"

Vert glared back down at the stressed Englishman with a callous scowl. "He made some very sexual remarks about my mother."

AJ glared back at his best friend. "Dude, don't be a hypocrite. You **slept** with _my_ mom."

"I said I was sorry!"

"'Sorry' doesn't un-fuck my mom, asshat."

"Okay, A) I was drunk!" Vert said defensively. "B) Your mom looks way younger than her real age, C) I didn't even _know_ that was your mom until you showed up for breakfast the next morning, and D) Stanford kept saying stuff even after I told him that was a picture of my mom."

"It's true," Agura said, taking a seat next to Vert on the porch swing. "He called her a 'saucy dish' and said he wanted to 'bake' her 'scones.' He used the word MILF and everything."

AJ raised his eyebrows, trying to stifle his snickering, and finally broke into great belly laughs. "Oh my god, he said that?"

"He said that. So now I've got him all prepped and ready to learn about his brother's illustrious career in porn, and what it feels like to 'work with the best.' AJ, you're up." Vert, now sitting on the porch where Stanford could not see him, waved his hands and mouthed _'Go with it!'_ as he motioned AJ towards the car.

Now, AJ Dalton was a mild-mannered fellow with a kind soul who would never consider hurting his friends, but even he was capable of mischief. And so, smirking and rolling his eyes, he went along with the joke. AJ strolled up nonchalantly, moving with obvious intent behind the immobilized royal, and stepped casually out of his field of view. A few moments passed before Stanford heard AJ chuckle, followed quickly by the loud and distinct sound of a zipper being undone.

Stanford renewed his struggles, panicked at the thought of losing his black cherry. "Hey, now, you can't—" the Brit began to protest, stopping short when he felt a strong, meaty hand slap down solidly on his rear. Stanford held very still, gasping in sharply at the hard spanking, and held his breath. He tried desperately not to make a sound, not wanting to show weakness for even a moment. But the royal failed when the hand came down again.

To the shock of his friends, Stanford turned red and _moaned._

AJ threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay, yeah, no. I'm done. I can't do this."

Vert groaned in annoyance. "Aw, c'mon, AJ, I just wanted to scare him a bit! Why'd you have to go and ruin the joke?"

"Dude, no. I just _can't,_ okay?" The Canadian shivered. "He moans just like his brother."

The Brit took this as the highest of insults and thrashed about desperately, still unable to escape as he cursed as loudly as his lungs would allow. Vert laughed again, the rest of his friends on the porch joining in his mirth—except for Stanford, of course, who was still duct-taped to the hood of his car. Boisterous, rollicking laughter drowned out the royal's angry cursing as they watched the sun go down.

Tezz wiped a tear from his eye, giggling like a school girl even as the rest of the group calmed. "Heheheh… Why are we laughing?" he asked with a careless smile. But after a moment he decided he did not really care and snuggled up to AJ. "Mmm, you're warm and cuddly. Let's go to bed!"

AJ chuckled awkwardly. "Uh, Tezz, are you feeling all right?"

"Feel better when you have me bent over the desk," he said, his voice a husky murmur.

The Canadian's cheeks instantly rouged and he glanced around in obvious discomfort, whispering to his lover. "Remember when we talked about how there's a time and a place for everything? That's something better said in private."

"Heheh, privates."

AJ furrowed his eyebrow and stopped whispering. "Have you been drinking?"

"No," Tezz insisted blearily. "Maybe a little. Not so much… Okay, most of a quart of Jack Daniels. Want some?" He held up a bottle in his left hand, cheerfully offering to share.

"Tezz, that's Kahlua."

"Well, I finished the Jack Daniels."

Agura looked dubiously at her friend. "Didn't you start in on a bottle of Southern Comfort after that?"

"I finished that, too."

The crimson one glared at the master of electromagnetics, clearly not amused. "Tezz, you're supposed to be the smart one! What could've possessed you to think that was a good idea?"

Tezz was leaning against AJ for support by this point and had to be shaken before he responded. "When your mother returns, Captain," he said with a lopsided smile, "she will notice that the alcohol in the liquor cabinet is several years old. Like many other things in the house, it has to be replaced. But despite the labels being dated so long ago, the spirits are still good, so why waste them when we could get wasted?"

"I could sure as hell use a drink," AJ muttered in agreement.

Vert's mind raced in a valiant attempt to fault Tezz's logic, but his inner stupid teenager had been reawakened by the suggestion. Hell, the blonde was twenty-one now; he could have a drink whenever he wanted.

Then again, some of his friends were still under the legal drinking age, and giving them booze would be grossly irresponsible. Memories of some of the dumbest things he had ever done (and hoped to God he ever would do) trickled back in hazy flashes. Had Vert not decided alcohol was not for him after having sex with his best friend's mother? After having sex with his best _friend?_ And here he was, in a relatively secluded homestead with that same guy and his boyfriend, Stanford completely helpless and tied down, beautiful Agura with her charming smile, and poor, nervous and twitchy Spinner.

He did not view himself as an alcoholic, just as he would constantly mentally insist he was absolutely straight. But the fact of the matter was that when Vert Wheeler had a few drinks, he would invariably drink until he blacked out and then have it off with anyone he could, male or female, and there were enough men there that he would most likely end up with one of them.. This did not make him gay, though, he frantically thought as the nights with the two Daltons blurred together in his mind. But it certainly did not make cleaning out the liquor cabinet a good idea.

Yet while Vert had mentally gone over all this, his friends had already sent up a chorus of whoops and cheers, bringing the bottles outside. Someone had pulled solo cups out of nowhere and the party was underway.

"Hey."

Vert looked up uneasily as Agura gave him a smirk and bounced her eyebrows, handing him a cup of something or other, and in spite of himself, the blonde accepted. When Agura was looking at him like that, how could he say no?

"Thanks," he said, grinning, and within a moment he was chugging. It was going to be an interesting night.


	5. The Hangover, part 1

A/N: Okay, this is a little shorter than what I usually post, but it was getting too long and I had to split it up. Still, this should explain to those who asked about the Wheeler family gun cabinets and Tezz's alcohol tolerance. And to Kgirl1, about what you usually ask about...? Two chapters worth of drama and it's official, but I'm not saying how ;)

* * *

The leader of the Battle Force 5 woke up to the feeling of soft, velvety skin under his cheek and his arms around someone warm and softly snoring. The first coherent thought he had upon waking was liken unto this: "Oh, goddammit, I better not have had another drunken gay experience." His next thought after that was something about hairless cats, and he had no idea why until he opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Agura's _very special friend_, who had apparently had a very close shave for the occasion. For an all too brief moment he was relieved to find he had not wound up in a threesome with the all too eager Tezz and AJ. After that he panicked and quietly found his clothes before exiting his old room and sneaking back downstairs.

Vert looked blearily around him, groaning and clutching his head in pain. Why, why, _why_ did he always forget about hangovers while he was drinking? The blonde remembered starting off by deciding to drink away the night with his friends. He knew he had had a few drinks with Agura, and then they let Stanford out of the duct tape to make a beer run, seeing as he was the last sober person on the property. Stan came back with a keg to find AJ showing everyone he could tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue and swallow an unpeeled banana whole before Tezz dragged him towards the master bedroom. Agura had watched them and giggled, giving Vert the most delightful smile. Everything after that was a blur of legs, tongues, and moaning.

Vert blushed at the fragmented memories of the night before that flashed through his mind—the way Agura had shivered with excitement, the way she tasted. He vaguely remembered being in states of awe and amazement at the way they fit together, but the recollections started falling apart. Vert lost concentration at the thought of Agura's bountiful breasts and stumbled down the last four steps before landing flat on his face.

As slowly as possible so as not to aggravate the throbbing in his skull, Vert pushed himself up onto his knees and then got to his feet. Shielding his eyes from the horrible, glaring sunlight that filtered in through the living room windows, he cast his glance around the house and his eyes widened in shock.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, NO! Oh my God, NO! What the hell? FUCK!"

Zoom groaned sorrowfully from his blanket fort under the dining room table. "Ugh, not so loud…"

"Not so _loud?!"_ Vert shrieked. "There's a fucking hole in the wall and you're worried about volume?!"

Zoom mumbled in displeasure and pulled the covers over his head, ignoring the leader of the Battle Force 5. For his part, Vert disregarded the scout and rushed to the spot by the air vent where Sherman had passed out. The younger Cortez was groggily waking now, wiping the drool from his mouth and carefully sitting up. In front of him was a sledge hammer, and behind him, as Vert had said, there was a gaping hole where the wall used to be. Plaster and broken wood were scattered on the floor, and the vent had been half torn out. All this time they'd spent cleaning the past two days, and between the debris from the damaged structure and the detritus of the party, the house was now a complete mess.

Sherman looked from the sledgehammer to the lack of a wall to Vert's enraged expression and raised his hands in defense. "Now, Vert—"

He was cut off as the blonde grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him up slightly from where he was sitting on the floor. "Sherman, you'd better explain. **Now."**

"You said you wanted to install central air conditioning!" Sherman cried out in fear, despite being much larger and stronger than Vert. "So we started remodeling! It was your idea! Hell, you took the first swing!"

Vert let him go and ran his hands back through his hair. "Fuck! We've only got—" he paused, counting on his fingers— "six days until Mom comes home! If we don't get this fixed, she's going to kill me!" Vert turned back towards the furniture. "And Dad's chair—oh, wait, the chair's fine. Man, that ugly piece of crap's the only thing that _isn't_ trashed!"

"Vert, _relax,"_ Sherman insisted as he shakily got to his feet. "We can fix this no problem. All of us working together, plus awesome alien technology at our disposal, this place will be finished in no time at all."

"It has to be absolutely perfect!" Vert hissed.

"And it _will_ be. Just think, Sage dug out the Hub with Sentient nanotech, and the place is self-repairing. And how long did it take for her to create the base, design to finish?"

Vert took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. "She'd only been on Earth a day or two."

"And we have six whole days," Sherman reminded him. "And this house is a _lot_ smaller than the Hub."

Vert calmed himself with some deep breathing. "Okay. Okay, you're right. We just need to steam clean the vomit out of the carpets and fix this wall, and everything will be okay. You're absolutely right." The blonde sighed, smiling. "Thank you, Sherman."

"No problem, boss," he said as brightly as he could manage with such a terrible headache. "So, it's going to take a few hours to program the nanotech properly, and I can't do that until we get back to base. Do you still want central air?"

Vert nodded, instantly regretting the painful motion. "Yeah, it can get insanely hot on the second floor. Go for it."

"Any other renovations you want done?"

"Hmm. Well…" He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, the water heater and the furnace are a little rickety, and the plumbing's pretty old, too. Mom was always bugging Dad about putting a skylight in the attic… A secret entrance to the hub might be a good idea in case of emergencies… Maybe I should make a list. Oh!" The blonde snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "Ok, yeah, lots of remodeling. But could you put new locks on the gun cabinets, too?"

"I don't see why not," Sherman said with a shrug. As the crimson one led him down to the basement, the younger Cortez wondered something. "Why are the gun cabinets in the basement, anyway?"

"I moved them down there after mom started losing it. I was worried she might, um. Y'know. Try to hurt herself."

Sherman became mildly alarmed. "No offense, but with her condition, it seems a little dangerous that you'd even _have_ guns in the first place."

"Well, they're _her_ guns," Vert clarified. "I wanted to get rid of them, but ownership didn't default to me until I was emancipated. By then, I'd been living with relatives in California for almost a year and I kind of forgot about it."

"You could still get rid of them now, though."

The blonde squirmed, unsure how to phrase his opinion on this point. The guns were his now, but before that they had belonged to his mother, and many of them had been his grandfather's before that. It was Papa Martin who had taught Janet to shoot in the first place, and she was an excellent shot. She and Jack had promised that when Vert was fifteen, they would take him out to the range and teach him to shoot. But by then, his father was gone and his mother was falling apart. Vert never got to learn to shoot, but his mother's family believed very strongly in the right of a citizen, if not the duty, to bear arms. As a result, many of these dangerous weapons had sentimental value.

"They were my Papa Martin's guns," Vert finally said. "He fought in the Korean war when he was barely my age, and he was so good at it, he signed up for Vietnam, too."

Sherman raised his eyebrows. "That's, uh, nice."

"They say he could carry an M60 and all his gear at a dead run for over a mile. His squad called him 'Machine Gun.' Yep; Sergeant 'Machine Gun' Kelly Martin of the United States Marine Corps."

"Whoa…"

"Yeah, and he had this tattoo that said 'Born to Kill' across his shoulder blades. I remember when I was little, I asked about it, and—"

"Vert, wait," Sherman asked, whispering. "Do you hear that?"

The blonde listened carefully and after a minute or so, detected the sound of someone painfully retching. He followed his ears and doubled back down the hall to the first floor bathroom and knocked. When there was no answer beyond a pitiful moan, Vert tried the door, and, upon finding it unlocked, walked in.

There on the floor, kneeling in reverent worship before the porcelain goddess, was the team's resident master of all things electromagnetic. Vert could not help but raise an eyebrow and smirk, content in the knowledge that he could better hold his liquor.

"I thought Russians were supposed to have a high alcohol tolerance," he remarked.

"That is an offensive ethnic stereotype, Captain," Tezz murmured, resting his head against the toilet seat. "And what is more, I am a Russian Orthodox Jew; alcohol is reserved for religious ceremony for our people." The ebony haired young man gagged as his stomach once again began to spasm. "Oooh, and now I know why!**_ BLEARGH!"_**

Vert and Sherman left their friend to it, shuddering at the nastiness before they continued back towards the basement.


	6. The Hangover, part 2

A/N: Upon contemplating the level of swearing the past couple chapters, as well as the adult themes of drinking and sex, I have decided to up the rating to M. I realize things are getting serious in some places, but there will be a happy ending and I swear the I WILL find the funny again if it kills me. And a quick apology to Kgirl1: You know how I said two chapters? Well I sat down to write them and banged out four 3000 word chapters before passing out at 5 AM. I am currently trying to reread through things to make sure they make at least a little sense, as I was fairly sleep deprived. And I guess I also have to write the quick Tezz apologizing to Spinner thing, too. Right. So. Have a sexy flashback in italics!

* * *

__

_The huntress and the crimson one had finally shared a kiss, the liquor giving them courage. Their kissing and groping had become more passionate, until Vert had led her to his old room. Even in their fervor they knew exactly what they wanted, hands roaming each other's bodies, too hot and in the moment to think about condoms until it was almost too late. But Vert was a gentleman, knowing better than to risk a pregnancy. Without thinking he lowered himself between her silken thighs and put lip to lip, bringing Agura to the height of pleasure with his tongue. She pulled him close and called his name, shivering with delight. Still, she could feel his throbbing manhood rub against her leg as he knelt down to love her with his mouth. When the final wave of her orgasm had faded, she kissed him hungrily and moved to return the favor. But even as she took Vert's throbbing sex into her mouth, Agura saw him turn and switch positions beneath her, putting his own tongue and lips back to work…_

And then she awoke due the agonizing pain in her skull. Agura cursed the sunlight that beat in through her bedroom window and caused her such terrible misery, clutching her throbbing head. Then the huntress remembered that she lived in a secret underground base and her bedroom had no windows, so the question arose, where was she and what the hell had she done last night?

Concentrating, she recalled a few snippets of the night before. The team had been helping Vert prepare for his mother's return, but had gotten distracted just hanging out and decided to clean out the liquor cabinet. For one beautiful evening they had palled around like normal kids their age, playing like fools and saying things they would never say sober, roughhousing and cavorting. Then, Agura and Vert had gone off alone, and…

"I fucked Vert," she whispered nervously, hurriedly looking around the old room, but there was no one around to hear her. She was alone in what was clearly the bedroom of a teenage boy, the sheets that enveloped her smelling strongly of sex. With a giggle, she excitedly repeated herself, but not so loud that anyone could hear her words. "I fucked Vert!" Yes, she remembered! The memories were hazy, but they were there nonetheless.

Though confused at being abandoned, Agura was momentarily glad for the solitude, grateful her friends would not see her blushing. So perhaps she had not had full intercourse with her crush, but a moment had been shared, and fluids swapped. Now there was no way he could ignore her anymore.

"Shit!" she hissed, looking for her clothes. Agura had been trying for almost two solid years to subtly attract and entice her captain, not wanting to overwhelm him with aggressive flirting or seem desperate. In her high school days, Agura had been 'that girl'—the one who was looked at strangely for being so direct when she wanted something, regarded as one of the guys. The boys shied away not just because of her five brothers, but because she was a tomboy who didn't know how to be subtle. She liked Vert too much to risk putting him off by taking the traditionally masculine role and making the first move. But now that she had, well…gotten drunk and sucked his cock…what if he thought she was a slut? That was unreasonable, though, right? Agura had dated not even once since her arrival in Handler's Corners, her love life amounting to less than zilch before now. There was no way Vert would lose respect for her over one night of misspent youth…right?

Then again, she had practically thrown herself at the captain, which did not exactly paint her as a paragon of virtue. And both of them had been heavily intoxicated, which meant it was generally socially acceptable to ignore anything that had happened. The huntress thought she would prefer being shot down in flames to being given the _'I don't want to ruin our friendship'_ speech. Not by Vert, not when she cared so much about him. She had to act like a girl for once in her life. She had to be as subtle as possible.

'_Ok, Agura, just breathe,'_ she thought to herself. _'Just calm down, get dressed, and go talk to the boy. Everything will sort itself out.'_

She slipped her hoodie back on, looking about the room. She had never seen Vert's room at the hub, so even being in a room he no longer resided in was a novelty. Falling back on her huntress's instincts to function as deductive reasoning, she studied the room. Judging by the few spots on the wall where the paint was a more vibrant shade, Vert had taken only a few things with him when he moved to the hub, leaving his old life behind him. From the shapes of these spaces, Vert had taken two posters, a framed picture, and one of those stupid triangular flags used by sports teams. The items left were presumably things he no longer cared about: a few old action figures, a couple of baseball trophies (which was odd, seeing as how he was so competitive; Agura made a note to look into the local team). But one of the posters still on the wall deeply disturbed her, causing her to question all that she knew about the crimson one.

"Oh my gawd, Nickelback?! _Seriously?"_

Agura hightailed it out of there. She and Vert _really_ needed to talk.

* * *

"Remember, keep all the current color combinations," he told Sherman. "Except for the sliding-door closet in the den; I don't know why there's clown wallpaper in that closet, but it's super creepy. It has to go. Feel free to rip it down, take it out back and _shoot it_ if you want to. As long as it's gone."

"Got it, Vert!" the younger Cortez replied. "Don't worry; everything will be perfect for when your mother gets here."

"Indeed, Captain," Tezz concurred. "Our work will be flawless and efficient. There is no need for concern."

Vert sighed in relief and clinked his glass with Tezz and Sherman, each sipping their screwdrivers in a quiet toast to the work that was to come. Tezz had been a bit wary of putting vodka in his orange juice after the night before, but Vert had introduced him to the concept of 'the hair of the dog that bit you;' having a small amount of alcohol to ease more gently into sobriety. Since a hangover was merely what happened when a person experienced the symptoms of withdrawal, drinking a little more kept alcohol in you system, and therefore kept the hangover at bay. The orange juice, of course, was to get some sugar and fluids back into your system as well, thereby aiding the process.

"Whoa, Tezz!" Vert said with a laugh. "Don't chug, buddy. You're gonna upset your stomach again."

"Yeah, and about that?" Sherman told him. "For future reference, you don't want to mix too many types of alcohol. It hits you harder that way. I mean, before any of us started drinking, you had Jack Daniels, which is whiskey, Southern Comfort, which is spiced rum, _and_ Kahlua, which I don't even know what it _is."_

"It's a coffee based liqueur," Tezz said sheepishly. "In my defense, this is only maybe the second time I've gotten a chance to seriously drink. I am still learning guidelines and experimenting with my tolerance levels."

"Just make sure you don't 'experiment' during office hours," Vert chuckled, looking away when Tezz blushed. For a moment he wondered why such an innocuous comment would make the Russian blush, but suddenly all thought stopped and the blonde was completely at a loss; Agura was coming down the stairs, looking nervous and a little scared. Almost immediately Vert's smile left him, and he tried desperately not to let his panic show.

"Good morning, guys," she said wearily, rubbing the back of her neck. "What a wild night, huh? Tezz, I never thought a skinny boy like you could do that many keg stands. Way to go."

Tezz looked at his feet and groaned; his stomach rumbled at just the thought of it. Then, of course, Sherman clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh, and the Russian's stomach lurched back into high gear. Tezz gagged and ran off with one hand over his mouth.

After the three remaining friends shared an awkward chuckle over Tezz's tummy trouble, Agura cleared her throat. "Vert, I was, uh, thinking about running out for some donuts. Did you want to tag along and keep me company?"

"Donuts would be awesome," he said slowly, grasping desperately for an excuse. "But, I'm, uh, really busy! Yeah, super busy planning renovations…with Sherman! We're going to get some Sentient nanotech in here and just fix everything up remotely, so we've got to clear everyone out and get to work."

"Actually, it could wait until after breakfast if—"

"I'd rather get it done ASAP," Vert said tersely, cutting Sherman off and staring him down. The younger Cortez shut his mouth and did as he was told. "If you still wanted to make a run, though, I'm sure the guys would appreciate it."

"Yeah, okay," Agura said weakly, trudging to the front door.

He had blown her off completely, either ignoring or not realizing she was asking him out for breakfast. Was he pretending it never happened? No, Vert was stern and honest; if he wanted to forget about the night before, he would tell Agura to her face. The huntress figured he was just panicking and still trying to figure out what had happened. The best thing to do was to give him some space and let him decide.

And if by that night he still had not decided, she would have to give him a little push.

Agura harrumphed as she climbed into the Tangler. _'This subtlety BS is for chumps. Maybe I better try the direct approach after all.'_

* * *

Working through their hangover, the BF5 finished remodeling and re-cleaning the Wheeler property. All told, central air conditioning was installed, the house was rewired, and they replaced the furnace and water heater with newer, more efficient models. The old air ducts were ripped out and replaced with better insulated ducts to go with the central air. A sky light was put into the newly cleaned and organized attic, which Janet had always wanted to move her art room to. Janet's Dodge Challenger, which Vert planned to pick her up in, was tuned and detailed to perfection. The fridge and pantry were stocked, the carpets had been steam cleaned, the plumbing was up to code, and a secret entrance to the hub was created in the basement. With all of them working together and a little help from sentient nanotech, the house was ready with days to spare. Now, all that was left was to welcome Mrs. Wheeler home.

Of course, there were still a number of days left before she would arrive, and so the Battle Force 5 found they had some time on their hands.

"We should go out to celebrate!" Tezz cheered, the bloody mary in his hand sloshing slightly over the edge of his cup as he swayed. His dismayed lover caught him before he could fall. "Stanford mentioned there was a band playing at the Tipsy Roadrunner tonight. Let's have some fun!"

"I dunno, Tezz," AJ said carefully. "You're still kind of drunk from yesterday."

"No, I'm not! I only had a bloody mary!"

"On an empty stomach, after having a screwdriver for breakfast." AJ frowned and looked the Russian in the eyes, trying to signal to him that he needed to ease up on the booze. But Tezz only frowned right back, extricating himself from his lover's embrace. Seeing Tezz sneering at him so, AJ took him by the hand and quietly dragged him to talk in private.

Vert sighed in relief after the lovers were out of earshot. It still felt awkward sometimes to see the free spirited Canadian and the often surly Russian as a couple, but he knew he would have to get used to it eventually. AJ was his best friend; Vert had always thought of him as a brother. If being with Tezz made him happy, then dammit, Vert would accept that. But if Tezz ever made AJ cry…Vert would more than likely kill him with his bare hands…and leave his corpse to rot on the Red Sentient moon they found his scrawny ass on.

"Well, he did kinda have a point."

Pulled from his thoughts, the blonde looked pensively at the huntress. He thought for sure she would want him dead after the night before, that she would assume he had taken advantage of her, but it seemed like Agura was making an effort to be close by him all through the day. What was happening between them? Where was this going? Did she want him, _need_ him like he needed her?

"We hardly go anywhere but Zeke's," Agura said. "And once you're mom's back we might not get the chance to really hang out, just us, for a little while."

Crap! Did she mean 'us' as in just the two of them or 'us' as in the whole team? Curse you, inherent ambiguities in the English language! Vert swallowed, suddenly quite aware of how closely she was standing to him. "Yeah, I guess. Um. But, y'know, after the other night, I'm not really so sure…" '_Not sure what you want from me, not sure what to do, not sure if you like me back. Take your pick!'_

"Stop worrying about last night," she chuckled, going in for the kill. "And tomorrow can take care of itself, too. All we really have is tonight."

The previous night had been a mixed blessing in his eyes. He was head over heels for Agura, he had been for ages, but what would she think of him now? Would she think he did not respect her? Would she think he was not attracted to her when sober? It was true that he would do it to anyone who would hold still long enough when drunk, and Vert knew he hit the lottery when he took Agura to bed. But what about tonight? What if he hooked up with someone else instead? What if he made an ass of himself and scared her off?

He looked at her cocky smile, his resolve waning. "Agura…"

"Yes, Vert…?"

"Oh, get a room for crying out loud," Spinner said, putting a palm to his forehead in annoyance. "Are you two lovebirds gonna stand here all night or are we going to the bar?"

"Yeah, man my fake ID's burning a hole in my pocket!" Zoom enthused. "Let's _go_ already!"

Agura smirked. "Just give me a minute to get changed."

Grudgingly the blonde prepared to leave. Between the impatience of his friends and Agura's cat-that-ate-the-canary smile, he really had no choice.


	7. The Tipsy Roadrunner

A/N: Right, then, so at the end of the last chapter, AJ and Tezz had stepped aside to quietly argue. Now everyone's going to The Tipsy Roadrunner to listen to a band and have a few drinks (Except for Tezz, who will more than likely have too many drinks. And yes, Turtled, I am aware that's a bad idea. But that's never stopped cocky teens from doing stupid things before.). If Agura seems like she's acting out of character, allow me to remind you that she's feeling a little bit desperate and unpretty and, had I more time and patience, would go to increasingly ridiculous lengths to get Vert to pay attention to her. Sadly, this is not the case. So, just wait. The next chapter is on hold until I can complete a scene between Tezz and the Cortez Bros.

**EDIT:** Had to repost this bad boy after a glitch kept it from being accesible. Hope this works!

* * *

At the last minute Tezz had followed along, catching a ride with Stanford. AJ, on the other hand, had become annoyed with the Russian and elected to stay at the base in case of a 'sudden attack' he knew would never come. As slightly sloshed as Tezz already was, he took practically no notice of AJ's aggravation and cheerfully skipped off to amplify his inebriation. Together Tezz, Stanford, Vert, Agura, Zoom, Sherman, and Spinner hit the road. The Saber and the Reverb were fine, and the Chopper could fit just about anywhere. But expecting the Buster Tank or even the Tangler to fit down the street and into a crowded parking lot downtown was ridiculous and so, at Vert's suggestion, the Cortez brothers and Agura piled into the Challenger.

The 1970 Dodge Challenger, with its 440 SuperCobra ™ engine, was tuned to absolute perfection. The vehicle had been Janet Wheeler's dream car even since she first saw _Vanishing Point_ with Barry Newman, and her beloved Jack had made that dream come true on their seventh anniversary. Vert still used the stark white Challenger when they needed groceries or other supplies, his own red Charger having been cannibalized to create the Saber, and tonight the car would serve their purpose.

With a quick reminder to his friends to drink responsibly, Vert showed them the way to the Tipsy Roadrunner and held the door as they entered. The band was already in full swing, playing hot and loud, and things were shaping up to be pretty good.

Zoom smirked knowingly as he was carded and marked okay; Spinner's skills as a hacker included some dabbling with forgery, and the scout's fake ID held up to scrutiny without incident. He ordered two gin and tonics and went to meet Grace in a booth at the back.

Agura smiled at Vert. She had promised herself not to try too hard, but if he wasn't going to pay enough attention to her, she would have to _make _him pay attention.

"A night on the town," she said wistfully. "It might be the last one we get for a while, what with your mom and the war and everything. Enjoy it while you can, Vert."

"Yeah, because that doesn't sound ominous at all," he laughed.

"Enjoy it," she repeated, stepping back to give him some space. "And remember, no regrets."

"No… No regrets. Right."

Vert's throat tightened as he watched her walk off. He had never seen her in a dress before, let alone one so short and tight. And the way those heels made her hips sway when she walked—! Seeing other guys leer at her sexy ass as she strut past them was torture. It was actually a relief to see Stanford declare the band was playing his song and drag her to the dance floor.

"I got you a drink, Vert!" Tezz happily slurred, despite his statement lacking the letter S in any form. "Is scotch okay, or—"

Vert snatched the glass from the Russian's hand and drained it in four quick gulps, never once taking his eyes off of Agura.

Tezz clicked his tongue at the blonde's rudeness. "What has come over you, Captain? You are not normally so grabby!" Though looking Vert over for a moment, the Russian mused he would not mind if Vert grabbed _him_. Then he remembered he was spoken for and stopped ogling like a good boy.

Vert cleared his throat. "Something, uh, _happened_, between me and Agura last night."

"You finally slept with her?" Tezz squealed, not bothering to lower his voice when he got a few stares. "It's about time! I was sensing tension between you and Agura since my arrival and came to expect it to occur, but still there was certain uneasiness. I was left constantly wondering, 'will they or won't they?' But now it finally happened! Vert, I am so happy you two have finally gotten together! You will make such a cute couple!"

Vert leaned away from his excited and already mostly-smashed teammate. "Who are you?" he asked incredulously. "And what have you done with Tezz?"

Tezz tittered and pinched the blonde's cheek. "Oh, Captain, you are so funny!"

Had Vert not been there the day they met Tezz's opposite and learned she was almost exactly like Tezz anyway, Vert would have thought for sure he had run into Volitov's anti. But presently the drunken master of all things electromagnetic went off to bother someone else, and the blonde was left to wonder why he was acting so out of character. Shaking his head, Vert went to take a spot at the counter, ordering a double. He would talk to Agura in a minute, but first he needed a little something to settle his nerves.

* * *

Agura had never been what one would call prissy. She dressed casually, she fought like a man, and she never worried about breaking a nail. But if there was a guy she liked, she was perfectly capable of dressing to impress. And as all the guys who had hit on her proved, and as Stanford had told her, she was certainly impressive looking. A snakeskin-print cocktail dress with spaghetti straps that clung to her curves and barely went to her mid-thigh, black patent leather strappy sandals, metallic green eye shadow —Agura was a tomboy, but she cleaned up good when she needed to. Even Grace's cousin had said she looked hot, and that cleavage-y slut-bomb was attracting all kinds of attention herself. So if she wanted Vert to listen to her, now was as good a time as any.

'_No way he can ignore me dressed like this,'_ she thought with a smirk.

Agura steeled herself for her big moment. Did he love her, or was it just one wild night? Well, now it was time to find out! Taking a deep breath, the huntress worked to keep her demeanor outwardly cool and started walking towards Vert. He could not possibly give her the brush off this time, not the way she was dressed, not in this crowded bar with nowhere to run. Once she got to him, she tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey! Having fun?"

Vert turned around, surprised and suddenly terrified. "Huh! Hey! Yeah, totally!" The blonde grinned. _'Smooth, idiot. Try not to screw this up.'_ "The band's really great! And the drummer's a madman!"

"Great, yeah." Agura's smile mellowed a bit. "So, we never really got a chance to talk about last night…"

Vert paled and lost his grin completely. "Last night?"

"About what happened? You and me, your old room, just the two of us…?"

"Things, um, happened. Yeah."

Agura knitted her brow. "Vert. We Need To Talk."

The blonde sank; even over the band he could hear her capitalize the letters. She was angry. He was in trouble, and he would have to ignore his aching heart; she did not love him. There was no way she would ever forgive him, he thought, not with the intense look she was giving him with that ever so slight frown. Vert switched over to damage control and put on a brave face, praying she would at least not hate him for the rest of her life.

"I am so sorry," he said. "I don't really remember a lot, but if I did anything to hurt you or upset you—"

"You don't remember?" Agura said flatly. _'Of course not, idiot. He was drunk.'_

"The whole night's an awful blur, really," he said with a strained but hopeful smile. "I don't want you to think I was taking advantage of you. I'm really sorry about the whole thing. I'm sure this must be really awkward for you."

That last statement completely floored her. Sure, she had been drunk, too, but she felt the night was still so special. Agura was heartbroken. No wonder Vert was so panicked; he was not attracted to her while sober.

"I really hope we can still be friends," Vert said optimistically.

The one thing she never wanted to hear, and he had said it.

"Yeah. Friends." Agura smiled weakly. "Everything's fine, Vert. We're cool."

She quickly excused herself to order another drink. Of course he only wanted her when he was drunk. She was one of the guys! He had said so herself! Agura did not know what she had expected, slutting it up in this ridiculous outfit. He probably just wanted to steer clear of the tramp who was so desperately trying to get his attention. She had thrown herself at him like an idiot, and gotten her heart broken in the deal.

Agura sat at the bar, sipping a long island iced tea. It was a mixed drink made of many hard liquors; it would hit her harder and faster and help her forget she had ever been such a romantic fool.

"Now, who's the colossal moron who made such a beautiful young lady look so sad?"

Agura looked up at the guy who was now obviously but gently flirting with her. He was not exactly her type, but he was okay looking. He was tall and slim with a head of adorably messy dark hair, as if he had gotten a buzz cut at some point but was letting it grow out. The only imperfection on his olive-skinned personage was a nose that looked as if it had been broken at least twice and set incorrectly both times. Agura figured the sympathy that filled his expressive dark eyes was as fake as his New York accent, but she decided not to shove him off just yet. Agura took another sip of her drink.

"It's complicated," she finally replied. "And you are?"

"Tag Castelucci," he said in that same Bugs Bunny cadence, giving her a gentle and sweet smile.

"Agura Ibaden."

"Lovely name for a lovely girl," he said, mispronouncing it as 'goil.' "So tell me, sweetheart, what's got you so down?"

He was a complete stranger. Why should she tell him anything? But he seemed really nice and she did not want him to go. "There's this guy…"

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "Ain't there always."

"We've been friends for two years now," she continued. "But I've been dropping hints practically since we met. So the other day we had a few drinks, and… Well, we slept together. I thought things would be different now, but then he ignores me for most of today, and finally he says he 'hopes we can still be friends!'"

"Yeesh, that's rough," he told her.

"I mean, I thought things were going so well! What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong no-how, doll," Tag assured her. "This guy sounds like a grade-A yutz. If I had a beautiful lady like you chasing me, I'd do everything I could not to screw things up. Fugheddabout 'im. If he can't see how great you are, he ain't worth it."

Agura smiled at her new acquaintance and sipped her drink. "I know, but I really like him. Even if I can't have him like that, I still want things to work out, y'know? It hurts like hell and I want to be **more** than friends, but I don't want to ruin what's left of our relationship."

"Cheese Louise, this guy must be something special. Who _is_ the lucky jerk?" Tag eagerly looked to the girl he hoped would accompany him home for guidance, gazing in the direction she pointed. Suddenly his eyes met their mark and he blew out a breath. The Italian American's face turned sour. "No offense, Agura, but I thought I nice girl like you would have better taste."

Confused the huntress looked again where she was pointing: blonde hair, blue eyes, lean but muscular, and an adorable dimpled chin. "Nope, that's him."

Tag shook his head and muttered to himself in a convoluted mix of Yiddish and Italian, taking a moment to compose himself before he addressed Agura once more. "Listen, Agura. I know you're probably not gonna trust an obnoxious stranger with a big mouth," he told her. "But I'm duty-bound to inform you: Vert Wheeler's got a bit of a reputation."

"Reputation?" Agura asked in confusion. But guys had a different standard, right? A guy who got around was a player, not a skank. What could Castelucci mean?

"For breaking hearts," he elaborated. "Whatever you think you know about Wheeler, however he acts around you—that's not how he really is. He's not what he seems. I'm not just talking shit because he used to pick on me in school. He puts up a good front, but he's really not a nice guy."

Agura furrowed her brow, putting down the rest of her drink and asking the bartender for a glass of water instead, mildly suspicious. "Vert's never been anything but a gentleman to me."

"If you don't believe me, ask him about Karrie Guildenstern." Tag looked off towards the back of the bar for a moment. "Listen, it's been really great talking to you. You seem like you're very nice, but you should probably be more careful about your taste in guys. Take care, Agura. I hope everything works out for the best."

"Bye, Tag," she said quickly, a bit surprised by his hasty exit. "Nice meeting you," she mumbled. He hadn't even left his number. Man, she just kept striking out!

* * *

Tag looked back at the bar, bummed out. This Agura girl was gorgeous; that schmuck Vert Wheeler was unfit to lick her boots. But if Agura was into a guy like _him_ then she would probably turn out not to be his type anyway.

Still, it drove him crazy to see a wonderful girl so head over heels for that douche-nozzle. Tag and Vert had never got along, even in their early days. Their fathers had been best friends, and their grandfathers had fought together in the Korean War. But Vert had shoved Tag into lockers, tripped him in the halls, and made fun of his braces and his awkward thinness; he was responsible for three of the five times Tag's nose had been broken to date. Sure, Tag was mouthy; sure, he had a grating accent from going back to visit his cousins in Brooklyn; and certainly he had pulled a few pranks on Vert to deserve his ire. All of this, Tag could forgive. But Tag could not forgive these same trespasses against other members of the nerd community, and he believed God would never forgive Vert for what he had put the younger Guildenstern sister through.

They had not talked in years; he had no reason to fight Vert at the moment. But right about then, Tag started to feel…_naughty._

"I'd like to make a request," he said upon approaching the stage. "Dedicated from Agura, to Vert."

The lead singer, a cocoa-skinned girl with blue eyes, probably of a very mixed ancestry, looked at him askance and straightened the studded leather bracelets on her wrists. "Funny, you don't look like an Agura," she quipped.

Tag held out a twenty dollar bill. "Does he?"

She snatched up the bill and happily examined the portrait of Andrew Jackson. "And what would you like to hear, Agura?"

Tag smiled. "I know it's a little old school, but I'm in the mood for some Josie Cotton."

* * *

A/N: You may remember Tag Castelucci from **Spinner's Day Out** and the end of **Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Cop?**. And when I finally get around to writing Local Talent, he'll show up even more. So remember this stereotypical goomba with the out-of-place Noo Yawwk accent, okay? Okay.


	8. A Conflicting Interlude

A/N: Ok, I know I was all, like, VERGURA for a minute there, and then I was offline for a while. Internet's been down, family stuff, blah blah blah. And then THIS insisted I post it. I hadn't really gotten into what Spinner and Tezz were up to, and I felt that I needed to resolve that, so here's a chapter of Spinner, Sherman, and Tezz! And a small cameo of the Metal Maniacs from AcceleRacers.

* * *

Spinner ground his teeth and sipped at his Dr. Pepper, trying not to outwardly show how nervous he was. This was just like going to Zeke's, he told himself. This was a safe, public place, and all his friends were here. _'And I'm only drinking soda, and caffeinated soda at that, so it's not like anyone can catch me unawares.'_ Alcohol at home with people he was finally beginning to trust again was one thing, but boozing it up around strangers was out of the question. Getting drunk and being talked into something stupid was at the top of the list of dangerous things that could get Spinner kidnapped or worse, and the gamer was determined not to do any of those things. But also was he determined not to be afraid anymore. He refused to let what had happened to him control his life, but he needed to take baby-steps to get to where he had been before that day.

"Are you okay, Spin? You look really tense."

Spinner grimaced. _'Then again, maybe a drink or two might help me forget.'_ And really, forgetting was all he needed to do to move on. Forgetting was all he wanted, everything he craved. But Spinner was too wary of straying from the obsessive compulsive set of rules that he believed would keep him from getting attacked again to even consider drinking.

"Spinner…?"

"I'm fine, Sherman," he said tersely. Seeing his brother sink in his seat, Spinner suddenly felt guilty. Who wouldn't, seeing Sherman's big puppy-dog eyes? "I'm fine. Really."

The younger Cortez smiled weakly. "We could go home, if you like."

Spinner took in a shuddering breath. "I'm staying. I'm going to have fun." _'If it kills me.'_

It was…_difficult_ for Spinner to trust people, since what had happened. Getting used to humans in general was hard, but males in particular were too horrible for him to contemplate. Being around his friends helped somewhat; with Spinner constantly reminding himself they were indeed his friends and would never ever hurt him, he had slowly relaxed to their presence. He _was_ getting better, and that was the one thing that gave him hope. If he could just calm down enough to put that week behind him, he would be okay. The most important thing now was that he readjust to being around people. He had to move on or he was going to do something the others would regret.

Yes, it was true that he had contemplated killing himself. It was not as if it was the first time. Everyone had their low points. But… "Sherman," he said softly.

"Yeah, bro?" he said, perking up.

There was no way he could hurt his baby brother like that. Sherman was so sensitive and sweet, and he worried about his brother. They were fraternal twins; they had been together their entire lives. If anything were to happen to Spinner, poor Sherman would be devastated.

"Actually, this band kinda sucks," Spinner said offhandedly. "There's a Chinese place down the street. You wanna go for some chow, just you and me?"

Sherman smiled. "Yeah, okay," he said brightly, getting up from the booth. "Let me just tell Agura where we're going so she can come get us when she needs a ride home."

Spinner smiled wryly. A bar was a place people went to get drunk and wallow in their misery. He needed to move on with his life; getting out of this place and repairing his relationships were the first step. Hopefully the second step would involve crab rangoons.

* * *

Tezz Volitov was usually a very reserved and private sort of person. It was not that he lacked feelings, but rather that he preferred not to show them. If people know how you feel, they begin to understand you, and when they understand you, it makes it easier for them to hurt you. The Russian trusted the Battle Force 5; he knew he could count on them. But at the same time, he guarded his heart and kept them at arm's length. The risk of growing closer to them was too great to take all at once. It was any wonder he had somehow managed to cultivate a somewhat stable familiarity with any of them, let alone such a deep romantic relationship with AJ, and even this romance had its usual ups and downs.

The simple truth was that the Russian's social skills were lacking. He knew it, the rest of the team knew it, and even various townsfolk knew it. Tezz was blunt and to the point, always distracted by his quest knowledge, and so confident in his own intellect that he rarely if ever considered the possibility that he was wrong. Unfortunately, one of the most recent times he had been wrong, one of his friends had been hurt because of it.

He should have believed Spinner, he thought bitterly. The young gamer was annoying at times, it was true, but he was still Tezz's friend. Knowing now the truth of what had been going on, the way that Deputy Cash had terrorized the young man, Tezz was completely distraught. Poor Spinner must have been so scared and alone, and Tezz had _laughed_ at him. The Russian accused him of lying and being crazy. Spinner had asked him for help, and Tezz had turned his back on him. Thusly the way Spinner was constantly snapping at him made perfect sense.

Tezz pounded back another shot, but it did nothing to help. No amount of dancing or alcohol could make him forget what he had done.

It killed him to see the older Cortez so irritable and jumpy, as if every ounce of his fun-loving attitude had been drained away. He was a shadow of his former self. Tezz looked at Spinner, sitting there as his brother walked away, nervously tapping his fingers on the booth table; every ten seconds or so, the gamer's eyes would do a quick sweep of the room, assessing threats. Tezz recognized the strained neutral expression of cool indifference as once he himself often wore, trying to keep others from knowing his feelings.

His smile was gone.

His laughter was gone.

The light in his eyes had died.

And deep down, Tezz knew that it was all his fault.

Maybe it was not entirely his fault, but as arrogant as Tezz was, and in this case as irrational as he was being, no one could convince him otherwise. The massive and potentially very dangerous amount of liquor he had imbibed had made him even more stubborn, and he believed every thought he had was the absolute truth: there had been a metaphorical wolf at the door, and he had condemned his friend to be taken by that wolf.

"I'm a monster," he whispered as he stumbled towards the booth. He continued to repeat the phrase even as he moved back to where the Cortez bros were seated. "I'm a monster," he said more clearly, feeling a pang of guilt at the way Spinner cringed away from him. "I'm a monster, and I should have helped you when you asked, but I did nothing, and I'm Satan, and I'm sorry, so sorry. I'm a horrible person. I don't deserve to be your friend."

Spinner yelped and backed towards the wall as Tezz crowded into his side of the booth and threw his arms around the gamer. The Russian held the frightened and panicked gamer tightly against him, ignoring or not noticing that Spinner was on the verge of hyperventilation. "I hate myself and I want to die and I'm sorry."

"Let me go, you skinny bastard!" Spinner screamed over the band's funktastic rendition of _"Kill The DJ"_ by Green Day.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he continued to chant, as if it were some magic spell that would make everything okay.

The elder Cortez had been waiting for an apology, but now that he heard it, it only served to fill him with rage. Spinner had tried his best to be cheerful and welcoming when Tezz had joined the team. He tried so hard to get the Russian to crack a smile when he was working too hard. He had tried to be a good friend, even if his own sense of mischief had gotten between them from time to time. This… This scrawny Russian ASSHOLE had snubbed him at every turn, antagonizing him during the worst week of his life, and now Spinner was just supposed to forgive him like it was all water under the bridge? Oh, screw that! This bitch was going down!

"Who the hell do you think you are?!" Spinner snapped, shoving Tezz violently away. "You say some meaningless words and everything's just supposed to be fine again?! You're so fucking trashed you won't even remember this tomorrow. Your apology means _nothing_ to me, Tezz, NOTHING. Not after learning how **little** I meant to you as a friend."

Tezz stumbled out of the booth and stared at him, wincing at the harsh statement. "I—"

"Just fuck off and leave me alone!" Spinner demanded. With a deep scowl he leapt out of the booth and made for the door.

Tezz blocked his path. "No, _you_ fuck off!" he retorted dumbly. "God dammit, I'm trying to pour my heart out here! The least you could do is sit still long enough to listen! Or is your attention span too short for even that?!"

"The least **I** could—! After all the shit you put me through?!"

"I'm under a lot of pressure here and you're not making this easy!" Tezz roared back.

Spinner rolled his eyes. "Of fucking _course_ you found a way to make this about you," he growled, glaring up at Volitov. "You're being such a drunk asshole!"

"**You** are being a _sober_ asshole!" Tezz snapped back.

"Good," a gravelly, southern voice said amicably. "Then we're all in agreement here. You're both assholes."

"Who asked you?!" Tezz demanded, turning on the interloper—

**THUD**

—And smacking face first into a wall of muscle. The inebriated Russian heard Spinner whimper in dismay and hesitated to look up, but curiosity eventually got the better him. Slowly he allowed his gaze to travel upward.

The mountain of a man who towered over him would later be described by witnesses as "Yosemite Sam's scary biker nephew." He stood head and shoulders above the master of electromagnetics, with thick, rocky muscles packed onto every inch of him. A sleeveless t-shirt advertising a band called Cannibal Corpse was stretched tight over his massive chest, and tufts of coarse red hair were sticking out from the ripped collar and arm holes. And there was plenty more hair where that came from; the fellow also had an overgrown moustache the same fiery red as his shoulder length mane, along with a thick pair of eyebrows overlooking his ice blue eyes. His deeply tanned skin, sunburned shoulders, and dirty fingernails, along with the impatient look on his rough-hewn face and undoubtedly steroid-using physique, marked him as a man not to be trifled with.

"Oh my," Tezz said quietly.

"Now I don' know what y'all are arguin' about, and I don' rightly care," he said gruffly. "But my friends an' I came here special tonight to see this band. You see that sweet little girl up there? That's my friend's cousin, an' we're here to show her some support on her first gig. And we can't hear too good with y'all fussin' like this."

Tezz and Spinner backed up slowly as the fiery redheaded giant advanced on them with a glower and lowered his face to their level.

"Now what are you fellas gonna do about our little problem?" he asked, glaring down at them.

Tezz was a man of intellect under normal circumstances, but not tonight. He gave the massive stranger a lopsided smile and looked him up and down. "I could probably think of something to make it up to you," he slurred. "I always did like big guys…"

Alarm bells went off in Spinner's head and he grabbed the Russian by the arm, dragging him towards the door. "We're really sorry, we were just leaving, please don't kill us, kay thanx bai!"

The biker watched them go, one massive eyebrow raised, and shook his head. With a small laugh he returned to his table, he and his friends greeting each other with knowing chuckles. Nobody messed with the Metal Maniacs, and that was the way they liked it.

* * *

Spinner hauled Tezz out of the bar and into the parking lot, so desperate to escape that he hardly took the time to breathe. By the time they got to the Challenger he was ready to faint, but his adrenaline was so high he failed to notice. He had to get away. He had to get to safety. He had to run from the larger, stronger male who could pick him up like a ragdoll and do whatever he wanted, the giant of a man who Tezz foolishly tried to entice into doing God only knew what.

"—said you are hurting me, Spinner!" Tezz said frantically.

The gamer snapped out of it, realizing his fingernails were indeed digging into Tezz's bare wrist, his tight grip leaving marks that would later form a bruise. With some effort he opened his hand again, carefully letting the Russian go. Slowly he took in a shuddering breath, running his hands through his hair.

"Spinner…?"

In all actuality the biker had essentially asked them to quiet down as politely as he could, but in Spinner's mind they had barely made it out alive. He was thin and short. He was _weak_ and there would always be someone stronger than him, ready and able to…to…

"Spinner… Why are you crying?"

Spinner stifled a sob, furiously wiping at his eyes. "I'm not crying!" he insisted. "You don't know what you're talking about! You're drunk."

"Can still tell when someone's crying," Tezz mumbled back.

The elder Cortez shot back with "What were you thinking flirting with that guy? He could have been a serial killer!"

The master of electromagnetics harrumphed, crossing his arms. "What do you care who I flirt with?"

"Just because I'm mad at you doesn't mean I want you to get yourself _killed."_ Spinner drew closer to the Russian and grabbed him as gently by the shoulders as he could, no mean feat considering how wired and jittery the gamer was feeling. "Tezz," he said in a frightened half whisper, "you don't know that guy. What if he turned out to be some redneck psycho who killed you just for being gay? Or worse, what if he took you up on your offer and—"

Tezz stared in shock as Spinner's voice broke, the elder Cortez barely stifling a sob.

"He could've hurt you really badly, Tezz! You can't just run off with strange men! Here you are, ready to pass out— Didn't you even think about that?!What could he do to you if you were unconscious?! What would you do if you woke up in the hospital and all you could remember was some guy holding you down and-and-and _fucking_ you like a cheap _whore_ while you screamed and begged him to stop?!"

The ebony-haired young man had been completely stock-still for this outburst save for the times Spinner had shook him to get his point across. Finally had he hit what the layman referred to as 'the moment of clarity,' that one magical instance when someone knows the absolute truth of how badly they have just fucked up. Tezz had been so busy wallowing in shame and self-recrimination that he failed to consider he was making the situation worse. He had loomed over Spinner, constantly reminding him of everything he was trying to escape. Looking down into the hacker's tearstained eyes, he realized to his horror that such overbearing behavior must have been quite unnerving to someone who had survived a sexual assault. That Spinner still cared enough to try to prevent Tezz from suffering the same fate was a testament to the gamer's compassion. It took hearing everything Spinner feared in exact terms for him to comprehend this. He had needed Spinner to articulate it precisely.

"I'm sorry," Tezz heard himself say in a shaky voice. "I wasn't thinking at all. You're absolutely right, Spinner. Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" Spinner sobbed. "You're the one who's crying!"

Tezz whimpered. "So are you!" he whined, unable to stop his tears.

Neither of them was able to cease weeping, and so their argument stopped. In their blind sorrow, the pair of them latched onto the nearest thing they could hold for support, which in this case was each other. There the pair stood in the parking lot, engaged in a bro-hug and crying manly tears.

The moment Sherman walked out of the Tipsy Roadrunner he heard his brother's desperate, mournful cries and fell into a panic. A worst case scenario running through his mind, he rushed into the parking lot.

But there had been no need.

The younger Cortez brother's panic turned to heartache when he saw Spinner's face. The hacker was falling apart in Tezz's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, and the electromagnetics genius was crying right along with him. Carefully, Sherman approached the emotional pair and enquired as to their health, but they insisted they were fine. After a few minutes of wiping their eyes and sharing awkward glances, Spinner and Tezz piled into the back seat of the Challenger and buckled in while Sherman took the wheel. When he heard the Cortez brothers were planning to go for Chinese, Tezz told them he did not wish to ruin their plans, but Sherman maintained they were going straight home. And so, the trio got on the road. With this reassurance, Tezz fell into a deep slumber. Both Sherman and Spinner sighed in relief.

Sherman glanced in the rearview mirror, watching his brother wipe at his eyes. "He passed out, huh?"

Spinner nodded, remaining silent.

Sherman tried to smile back, but he was too worried to really make it convincing.

"I heard you were complaining about Tezz the other day," Sherman said, his voice measured and careful. "Is everything alright with you guys?"

Spinner smiled weakly. "I think they will be."

This time, Sherman's smile was genuine. He watched the road intently as he drove slowly through their sleepy little town, occasionally scanning the mirror to check on his passengers. Spinner was sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap, looking out the window at the passing scenery. It had been some time since Sherman had seen him so calm, even before the attack. But in his eyes was a careful, watchful look, constantly vigilant in the search for danger.

Tezz, by contrast, was showing only the look of exhaustion. The Russian's head was lolled back against the window at an angle that Sherman knew would give him a painful crick in his neck if they left him for too long. Such a thing seemed so out of character for Tezz, who was usually so measured and dignified. His behavior had been so off lately, his drinking out of control. It was troubling, but Sherman shrugged it off with a thought of 'boys will be boys.'

"Man," he intoned, shaking his head. "He's seriously conked out back there, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's wasted," Spinner agreed. The hacker let out a low chuckle. "He's out like a light! If I shaved his head, do you think I could convince him he did it himself?"

Sherman laughed but still said the responsible thing. "That wouldn't be very nice," he said, stifling a giggle.

Spinner laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, you're right," he said playfully. "Still tough to pass up an easy target, am I right?"

Sherman grinned and turned his attention back to the road as they came to a red light. It was nice to see his brother smile again. Spinner was laughing and joking just like his old self, and that gave Sherman hope. Maybe all he had needed was a good cry; maybe he really was going to be okay. It was a longshot, but if Sherman could get him through the rest of his attacker's trial without a breakdown, maybe everything would be back to normal.

"Um, Sherman?"

The worried tone of Spinner's voice immediately snapped Sherman from his reverie. "Yeah, bro?"

"I think Tezz stopped breathing."


	9. No Homo, Right?

A/N: I hate that I can only really get internet access at my boyfriend's house. Pretty soon he's going to start thinking I'm cheating with his wireless router :/

Anyway, here's a new chapter! The title is a reference to he **Yugioh! Abridged** version of the "Bonds Beyond Time" movie. Go and watch it. It's hilarious!

* * *

Vert wallowed in self-pity in the booth at the back of the bar, ignoring the way Grace and Zoom danced so dangerously close. He ignored Tezz's tantrum and the Cortez boys taking him home, and he also ignored his high school enemies having a laugh across the room. The crimson one felt positively gray.

The way Agura had looked at him when she said they needed to talk, like he was a dog that had just made a mess of the living room carpet; it completely destroyed him. He knew—he should have known from the beginning—that the huntress would never love him. And why should she? He was just some guy who had dragged her along on this great adventure to save the world from weird mutant animals and killer robots. Of course emotional bonding was inevitable in these situations, but that didn't have to mean she would fall as madly in love with him as he had her. He was stupid for thinking she ever could. Agura was so amazing and perfect, and he was nothing.

A teeny part of him, though, had hoped that she would be happy about it. The huntress and the crimson one had shared a passionate night together, their hearts beating as one, and though he had initially panicked, it had really meant something to him. Was this what AJ had felt like when Vert left him the morning after their encounter? Was Agura going to stop talking to him, or worse yet, leave? At that moment, the thing Vert wanted most in the world was to hold her in his arms and promise to be there forever.

But Agura was out of his reach for good. He had ruined everything, just like always. He was going to die alone.

"Oh, my, Hope sure can cut a rug!" Stanford enthused, fanning himself. He failed to notice the way Vert pounded back his drink the second the Englishman sat down. "I say, Vert, what are you doing sitting here all alone? Come and dance, old boy!"

"No thanks," he said gruffly.

"Oh, let me guess, you think dancing is for sissies and never bothered to learn." He rolled his eyes. "Women love a man who can dance, Vert! Come now, I can show you some basic moves…" Stanford grinned down at his captain but immediately stopped joking upon seeing how lethargic and unresponsive he was. "Unless, that's not the problem?"

Vert gave him the most miserable look just then that the royal redhead hopped over to the side where his friend was sitting and put an arm around him. He leaned in closely and whispered. "Vert, mate, what's wrong?"

The blonde sniffled. "I completely wrecked things with Agura."

After swearing the Englishman to secrecy, Vert told the whole story. Vert had been crazy about Agura from the beginning, but thought he had been friendzoned. Then came the night they cleaned out the liquor cabinet, and finding Agura in his bed the next morning. It had seemed like she was flirting before they left for the bar, but things went south during their little talk, and now everything was ruined.

"You're a bloody idiot, you are."

"I know," Vert said sadly.

"No, you really _are,"_ Stanford insisted. "Vert, mate, did you even let her finish what she was saying before you blurted out that everything was awful and awkward? She probably thought _you_ were shooting _her_ down, you great bloody git! For the love of Christ, man, she tried to get you to go for donuts just the two of you, she flirted before we came here, she put on _that dress,_ and you still can't get it through your bloody thick skull that she wants you?" Stanford rolled his eyes dramatically. "Really! Do you even have a _brain_ in that ridiculous tyrannosaur-sized _head_ of yours, you silly little man?"

Frustrated, Stanford raised his hand as if to slap Vert across the face, but he forced himself to calm down and lowered his arm. He just put his palm to his face and shook his head. Stanford's mighty fearless leader had fallen so far that he was now too pathetic to hit.

Slowly the gears started turning, and Vert came to the horrific realization that Stanford was right. "Sweet baby Jesus on a muffin, what have I done?! If she didn't hate me before, she sure does now! Shit!"

"Vert, calm yourself!" the redhead demanded. "Panic is unbefitting of a leader. There may still be time to fix this, but you have to be careful. Just try not to shoot yourself in the foot this time, and remember to grovel."

"Grovel?" Vert asked.

"For all you are worth. Beg and plead and apologize. You mucked this up a bit, but you can fix it. Just tell her how you feel."

Vert nodded, confidently leaving the booth. There was Agura at the bar, seated a few stools down from Frank Castelucci, the town drunk. The pair locked eyes, and he knew things were going to work out. They had to, or he would go crazy. He was going to get her to love him or die trying.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!" The girl on the stage called out. "Now, y'all gotta bear with me on this next one, because it's not what we would usually play. I try to stay away from eighties bubblegum wherever possible, but we have a very special request tonight. This one goes out to Vert Wheeler, from Agura. Hit it, boys!"

Vert's heart skipped a beat. Had she tried to get him to listen to her through song? But this upbeat surfer-guitar didn't really seem her style. So what exactly was she trying to say? Finally, the girl started singing.

**Johnny, what's the deal, boy?  
Is your love for real, boy?  
When the lights are low  
You never hold me close**

Aw, she did want him back! He would go right over to talk to her and they would get this whole mess straightened out.

**When I saw you today, boy  
Walking with them gay boys  
God, it hurt me so  
Now I gotta know  
Johnny, are you queer?**

Vert blinked, looking back and forth between the band and Agura. "What?"

Bar patrons turned to glance his way, and already Vert could hear them whispering. He was making their evening, the boy whose love life was so screwed up that the object of his affection was questioning his sexuality. What had he done to deserve this? Did she really hate him so much?

"How could she?" he gasped, looking past all the smirking faces to the woman he loved. He expected the look on her face to show anger or pain, or if he was lucky, perhaps a hint of regret. But one look at Agura was enough to rip his heart in two.

The huntress' face was a blank mask of boredom. She felt nothing; nothing at all.

**'Cause when I see you  
Dancing with your friends  
I can't help wondering  
Where I stand**

Agura looked up at the stage in little more than mild curiosity when she heard the announcement; she had requested no song at all, let alone this piece of crap. Was one of their idiot friends trying to play matchmaker and get Vert to pay attention to her? She mused to herself that such a scheme had no chance of working, but these thoughts were interrupted by her subconscious forcing her to listen to the lyrics. Agura looked, panic-stricken, to where Vert was standing. His expression was that of a man who had been crushed and betrayed. Vert looked away from her in pain and embarrassment.

**I'm so afraid I'll lose you  
If I can't seduce you  
Is there something wrong?  
Johnny, come on strong**

**Oh, why are you so weird, boy?  
Johnny, are you queer, boy?  
When I make a play  
You're pushin' me away  
Johnny, are you queer?**

Vert realized he was standing halfway between the bar and the booths and everyone was staring at him. Some people were even laughing; people who knew him from town, people he had gone to _school_ with. The humiliation was just too much to bear. Taking one last look at Agura, he ran to the front of the bar and out the door.

**'Cause when I see you  
Dancing with your friends  
I can't help wondering  
Where I stand  
**

"No!" she cried. "Vert, hold on!"

Agura barely had time to get off her barstool before it was too late. The blonde had scurried off with his tail between his legs. He had looked at her like a little boy whose puppy she had just run over. She had hurt him in the worst possible way.

**Oh, Johnny, you're forsaking  
The love you could be taking  
I wanna give it to you  
But you never come through**

Or rather, _someone_ had hurt him in the worst possible way and made it _look_ like it was Agura's fault. What in God's name was _wrong_ with the person responsible, that they would try to trick a man into believing the woman he had an awkward and complicated not-relationship with was questioning his masculinity and orientation in such a public manner? Agura shook her head as she sunk back into her seat. If this was supposed to be a practical joke, she was **not** amongst those laughing.

**Oh, why are you so weird boy?  
Johnny, are you, queer boy?  
When you asked for a date  
I thought that you were straight  
But Johnny, are you queer?**

"As if my day couldn't get any worse," she muttered. She grabbed what was left of her long island iced tea and downed it in one quick swig.

**Hey, Johnny are you queer, boy?**  
**Johnny, are you queer?**

"**Hey, Johnny…? Johnny, are you… Y'know?"**

Stanford marched right up to the huntress, considering hitting a girl for the first time in his life. Naturally he would never follow through on such a thing since he knew Agura could kick his ass with one hand tied behind her back, but he still considered it. "Bloody hell," he seethed. "You heartless bitch."

"I didn't do anything!"

"BULLSHIT! Agura, I just, _just_ got through giving Vert a big pep talk so he could patch things up with you and ask you out, and you pull _this?!"_

Zoom and Grace were now scrambling over to Agura as well, confused by the band's outburst. "Agura, what the hell?" Zoom demanded. "I don't know what he did to upset you, but it couldn't have been worth this. This is a small town! Come Monday morning, he'll be a laughingstock!"

"This is the Halloween dance all over again," Grace intoned, shaking her head. "Vert will never live this down."

"I didn't request that song!" Agura said defensively. "I swear! I have no clue what's going on!"

"'S true," the old drunk on the last stool on the left slurred. "Sweetness has been sittin' here aaaaaaaall night feelin' sorry fer herself."

Agura glared momentarily at the creepy, haggard-looking middle-aged guy; that was the second Brooklyn accent she had heard all night. Still, she was thankful for the backup. "See? I never went anywhere near the stage! So unless any of you decided to pull a prank—Oh my god, where's Spinner?!"

"Spinner and Sherman took Tezz home early," Stanford informed her. "They told me he was too wasted and asked me to give you a ride back."

"And if it wasn't any of you, and I only even talked to…"

A young, olive skinned man with a crooked nose approached the bar and ordered two tumblers of scotch and a glass of wine. Noticing Agura's worried face, he popped over to say hello. "Hey, I saw your friend leave. Is everything okay?"

Grace scoffed, startling her friends, and suddenly burst out laughing. "Tag, you son of a bitch!"

"'S true," the old drunk slurred. "'S ma was a cheatin' bitch."

"Shut _up,_ Dad!" Tag snapped. "And Grace, what are you talking about?"

"You requested that song," she said. "You _still_ hate him, after all this time. Damn it, Tag!"

"Who, me? No, of course not. I mean, not entirely. Well…okay, yes. Yes, I hate Vert Wheeler with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns, and you can quote me on that." Tag flashed a big sloppy smile. "But you can never prove it was me who requested that song. So long, suckers!"

Agura stood and watched, taken aback by the brash and bold statement, as Tag returned to his table and passed one scotch to a large fellow with a scar on his face and the glass of wine to a petite young woman with a pink headband. "He seemed so nice when we were talking before."

Grace grimaced. "Word of advice, Agura," she said gently. "Tag Castelucci has a _huge_ grudge against Vert. You should try to steer clear of him."

"A little late for that," she sulked. "Vert's going to hate me for the rest of his life! Did you see the look on his face?"

Stanford shook his head. "Agura, I'm going to tell you what I was telling Vert before." He dropped his wry smile and continued. "There may still be time to fix this. But you'll have to be careful about it. And above all else, woman…_grovel._"


	10. Heartbreak, Healing, and Rocky Road

A/N: AUGHH MY LAPTOP DIED. No, literally For a while it wouldn't work on battery power, and then it started making this weird noise and having trouble starting up. Eventually, I couldn't get it to power up at all! Thank goodness for my handy dandy boyfriend, who got a tablet and wasn't using his old laptop anyway, which is basically the same model as my old one but with a bigger hard-drive My dear sweet sugar dragon was able to retrieve the information from the old laptop after removing the hard-drive and mounting in an enclosure blahblahblah sciencey stuff ANY WAYS I got all my stories back FINALLY! And my music and my pictures and my games! SO. Here's the tenth chapter, which I have wanted to post for, like, three weeks now, but have been unable to.

* * *

Agura nervously fidgeted with the hem of her dress as she rode the elevator down, trying to quell her mental panic and desperate to fix the mess she had made.

Well, _half_ made. The responsibility was not entirely hers. It was true that she had contributed to the misunderstanding that had caused each of them to think they were friendzoned by the other, but Vert really should have thought better of her. It was the guy with the broken nose who had come along and wrecked everything; that snake with the friendly smile was to blame.

"So really, this is totally not my fault," she muttered, slipping out of her stiletto heels. If she was about to throw herself into an awkward scene, she might as well save her ankles a little pain.

Of course, all this desperate rationalization that none of this was her fault did nothing to change Agura's situation. Regardless of whether or not the huntress was to blame, she would have to approach Vert as if she were. Stanford had advised her to grovel, and as much as she hated to admit it, he had been right. Vert was probably very hurt and offended, and she was the last person he would want to see, but if Agura was ever going to get back on his good side, an apology was the place to start.

Agura swallowed hard; had the elevator always been this slow? The wait was driving her crazy. She felt like a prisoner being led to the execution chamber.

Still, Vert was a fairly understanding young man. More than likely if she just explained about the Italian's interference, everything would just sort itself out. Probably. She hoped.

Agura moved to step out of the elevator as it finally, mercifully, opened and immediately dodged back in. The huntress had narrowly avoided being bowled over by a frantic looking AJ Dalton.

"Jeez, AJ!" she gasped before he could close the door again. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"Oh, sorry, Agura, I didn't—" But presently AJ cut his distracted statement short and locked eyes with the young lady, glowering down his nose at her. "AGURA!"

She backed out of the open door, watching him uneasily. "What's got your boxer's in a bunch?" she asked weakly, trying to inject some humor into her voice.

The Canadian did not laugh.

This was something to worry about. AJ was not usually an angry sort of person; he hardly ever looked anything less than delighted. Judging by how lividly he stared at her, Agura figured he had heard about what had transpired at the Tipsy Roadrunner. Agura cringed as the platinum blonde marched out through the elevator doors and followed her back into the hub. She was _really_ in for it now.

"You…" he growled. "I don't know what you did, but Vert wasn't home more than a minute before he ran into his room and the only coherent word I got out of him before he started crying was **your** name." He jerked his head down to look her in the eye. "I have to go check on Tezz in the hospital, so you're on your own. He better be fine by the time I get back. He's like a _brother_ to me, Agura. Fix it."

"He was crying?" Agura asked in a half whisper, terribly guilty and deeply concerned. Then she registered the other important thing AJ had said. "Oh my god, is Tezz okay? What happened?"

"I don't have time for this." AJ shook his head and coldly brushed past her to the exit.

Agura shivered. Poor AJ. Everyone knew how crazy he and Tezz were for each other; he must have been so worried to lash out at her like that. She sure hoped Tezz would be alright…

She shook her head; she had other things to deal with. Quietly, she made her way to Vert's room and knocked. She waited for an answer, but when none came, she knocked again, louder, and called out to him. "Vert? Are you in there?"

"Go away," he called.

Agura took a deep breath and went in regardless, to make sure he was alright.

Vert had apparently been home long enough to change into his pajamas, and the huntress envied his comfort. She felt exposed in this dress, but Agura had been so worried about Vert's running off alone that she had checked the Wheeler house first. Only upon finding the house empty and the gun cabinet locked (Thank goodness!) had she hopped back into the Reverb and had Stanford drop her off at the hub.

"What do you want?" Vert grumbled dejectedly, curling around a large, cylindrical container. "I told you to go away."

Agura sighed. "Vert, I know you're upset, but that's no reason to go drowning your sorrows in—" She blinked and looked down at the container he was cradling just in time to see a spoon dig into the top and realized it was not a bottle. What little motherly reproach she had been able to muster when she thought he was drinking drained right out of her, and all she could do was point at him and skeptically inquire: "Is that _**a gallon of ice cream?"**_

"Tezz finished off the vodka this afternoon," he sulked, shoveling the heaping spoonful of rocky road into his mouth.

Agura snickered. Vert shot a glare her way, and she stopped, but her smirk was firmly in place.

"So you just came here to laugh at me some more," he muttered. "Great. Because I didn't get enough of that before."

"Vert…"

"Okay, so I'm not perfect. I screwed up. I get that!" He gestured wildly as he spoke, dangerously close to flinging his spoon across the room. "But what the hell?! I never even… I haven't, I mean, I don't even understand _why._ I thought we were _friends_ at least. How could you… Why did you have to… God damn it, Agura."

He pushed the heel of his hand into his eyes to wipe away the tears he dared not to shed. Why did it have to be her? Why did she make him feel this way? He loved her. Vert loved her more than life itself, and that was what made this evening so painful. "Just leave me alone," he mumbled, turning away. "Please. Just go."

But instead, Agura sat down next to him on the bed, paying no mind to the way his face heated up or the way he frowned. She took the hand that held the spoon in both of hers and just sat there. Just stayed, saying nothing, and waiting patiently for the blonde to finally look at her.

When she had his attention, she spoke. "I didn't request that song," she said, slowly and sincerely. "There was a guy trying to chat me up. I told him I liked you, but things were complicated, and the whole story just came tumbling out." She smiled apologetically. "Grace told me later you knew him. Italian guy, broken nose, inexplicable New York accent…? Oh, what was his name…"

Vert's eyebrow twitched. _Castelucci. _He _hated_ that obnoxious jerk. If Spinner's pranks were bad, Tag's were downright _vicious._ Worse yet, that loudmouth's sense of humor extended beyond practical jokes; it seemed like he always had some creative curse, brutal comeback, or insult to someone's mother ready to be shouted at a moment's notice. For some reason, a handful of people had categorized him as 'lovable jackass' and befriended him, but Vert had never trusted him _or_ his alcoholic father. The whole family was trash, as far as he was concerned—worse even than his own relatives in California, the Titus family.

"You know the guy I'm talking about, right?" Agura asked. "I feel like a complete idiot for trusting him. You shot me down and I just…" She shook her head and sighed. "I mean I was really bummed out when you said you just wanted to be friends, but I would never think you were gay just because you didn't like me like that."

Shot _her_ down? Vert opened his mouth to correct her, _clearly_ she had been the one to crush _his_ romantic aspirations, but Agura kept going before he could interrupt.

"You said it yourself, really. I'm just one of the guys!" She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. "And you know what else you were right about? That _was_ really awkward for me. You know, sleeping with my crush and thinking he loves me as much as I love him and then being brushed off like he never wants to see me again."

A part of the huntress panicked more forcefully, mentally shouting at her wild streak. What was she doing? Stanford had told her to grovel, but at this rate, all Agura was going to do was start a fight! She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair to you. I just... Oh god, I just said I loved you out loud, didn't I?" She chuckled nervously. "But like I said, I never thought you were gay."

The pair of them sat quietly, not speaking for a few minutes. Vert had put his ice cream on the nightstand, but other than that, there was no movement in the room. They did not look at each, they did not fidget. They just sat, deep in thought, each at a loss for words. The agonized hush seemed to stretch on forever as they contemplated what to say, what to do, how to handle the stress and fear of rejection. In fact, both Vert and Agura were so busy being scared that neither considered the possibility of a happy ending to their tale for at least six minutes.

Agura looked at her feet, bracing herself to break the silence. "Can we… Can we actually talk about what happened last night? Because you were amazing."

Vert blushed and squeezed her hand. "So were you."

They were quiet again for a few minutes.

"I thought you were mad at me," the blonde said. "The second you said we needed to talk, you looked so serious and stern I assumed you were going to kick my ass. I figured you thought it was a mistake, and you were blaming me. I never… I never even dreamed you were attracted to me."

The huntress scoffed and gave a wry smile. "Seriously? All that time I spent trying to impress you, and you never got the hint?"

"I guess the short answer is I'm an idiot." He smiled weakly. "I've been totally into you since you got here, but I was so scared and worried you weren't interested that I never went for it."

"And apparently never noticed I wanted you," she remarked.

"If I'd had any idea you felt that way about me, I wouldn't have wasted all this time torturing myself."

They were still holding hands, but Vert switched around so his fingers were interlaced with hers. Her skin was soft and warm.

"Promise me you won't laugh in my face," he begged. When Agura nodded, he continued. "I've been in love with you for as long as we've been a team. After that first mission, everyone else was celebrating, but not you. You understood the danger; you knew it was important for us to work together—you knew we should have been scared, but you went back in anyway. You've always been there to look out for me, for all of us. You're so wonderful, Agura."

The huntress, once strong and proud, now found herself prone and vulnerable before her captain. She tried so hard to never show weakness, to never let anyone see her sweat. But Vert brought that out in her. For good or ill, something about the blonde made Agura _trust_, made her want to share, to show her softer side. She felt so safe with him. "Vert…"

He leaned a little bit closer, tucking a loose strand from her bun behind her ear. "I love you, Agura," he said gently. "I want to be with you."

Agura backed away when he tried to kiss her. "I just want you to know that I'm not usually as easy as the other night," she said sternly. "I want to stop to see the scenery this time, maybe go on a few dates."

"Of course," Vert said, trying to kiss her again. As the blonde wrapped his arms around her, however, Agura leaned back again.

"I'm serious," she said. "I'm not just some bored little party girl who'll let you play around just because. I want a serious relationship. Promise me you won't just up and leave if someone prettier comes along."

"Prettier than _**you**_?" he asked incredulously, and Agura just about fell in love with him all over again. "Agura, you've got me hooked," he chuckled, finally landing a few light kisses on her cheek and forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. We can take it slow this time. There's no rush."

She smiled. Everything was so exciting and new, the possibilities thrilling, terrifying, and endless. Faced with all of these promising prospects and undefined uncertainties made the huntress feel helpless, but for once in her life, she didn't mind one bit. She leaned in and parted her lips, her eyes fluttering closed, and fell into what she thought had to be the best kiss of her life so far.

Vert rested his forehead against Agura's as they parted, his head swimming with so much delight he was practically drowning. The blonde was so blissfully happy that everything had turned out better than the disaster he had thought it to be that did not even care Agura had basically told him he wasn't getting laid tonight. The woman he loved was still there, in his arms, saying everything he wanted to hear, not running away when he handed her his heart, and life was good. He gently nuzzled his nose against her ear, ecstatic just to know he was awake and not dreaming, just to know that she existed. Vert sighed in contentment, optimistic about his life; things were getting better all the time.

"Vert?" Agura asked carefully.

He murmured a barely audible affirmative, acknowledging that he had heard her.

"I don't want to seem like I'm running out on you, here. I mean, this is great. But, um, I'm really worried about Tezz and I'd like to go check on him."

Vert shifted so he could look at her, furrowing his brow. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

Agura's eyes widened. "AJ didn't tell you? He's in the hospital."

"Oh my god," Vert gasped. He had been so distraught over what had happened at the bar that he had run straight to his quarters. If AJ had told him anything, Vert had failed to listen. His friend was hurt, his best friend was probably freaking out, and he had done nothing to help. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Agura admitted. "AJ was rushing out the door when I got here. He didn't say what happened."

Vert cleared his throat. "Okay, we should definitely see what's going on then. Just give me a minute to get changed." He grimaced. "I know it's not much of a first date, but…"

"It's fine, Vert," she reassured him. "I'll meet you in the garage."

* * *

A/N: Yay, stitching the plot thread back together! Now EVERYBODY will be back together for the end. Yay...right? (scrolls back up and rereads) Oh, wait, yeah. I wrote that, didn't I? X| Well, crap. Umm.

Tune in next time?


	11. Next, on General Hospital

A/N: Here's the last of the drama for a while. Fair warning, I am STUCK as HELL on the epilogue, so there's really no telling when it'll be up. Grr, stupid cute fluffy scenes take me for freaking ever to write. Dammit, why can't Vergura be easier? It makes sense for the storyline, but I have trouble with hetero sometimes. Which is weird, because I am in a hetero relationship! You'd think it'd be easier to write, but not so much. Anyway, here's the story.

* * *

The split second the Cortez brothers had dragged their friend into the emergency room, the doctor on call could tell he had alcohol poisoning. Immediately they had hauled Tezz off to pump his stomach, pouring a solution of ground charcoal and water down his throat to absorb the leftover toxins. He was put on fluids and oxygen, but Sherman and Spinner had no information as to what other medications he had been put on.

"They wouldn't tell us much," Sherman solemnly informed Vert and Agura upon their arrival. "They said they'll only speak to next of kin, but they let AJ in after he threw a fit and freaked out. He hasn't left Tezz's side since and we have no idea what's going on."

Agura frowned, despite happily wearing her more comfortable street clothes. "Nothing? They wouldn't even give you a hint?"

"Health Insurance Privacy Act. They won't say a thing."

Spinner shifted in clear discomfort, looking up sadly. "I did overhear something from outside Tezz's door, though."

Agura snapped to attention. "What? What did you hear?"

The gamer sighed. "AJ was crying again," he said. "The doctor mentioned brain damage. What if…" Spinner swallowed hard, wringing his hands in anxiety. "What if Tezz doesn't wake up? What if he's a vegetable?"

"Don't talk like that, Spinner. Tezz is going to be alright," Vert said sternly. "His insurance is through Spectra Motors. Maybe they'll talk to me." He turned to Stanford. "Give Teresa a call. She'll want to know what's going on with her brother."

"Already did, mate," he said wearily. "She's using her emergency battle key as soon as she gets far enough away from Chicago. She should be here in a few hours."

Vert gave his friends a curt nod, preparing to inquire after his friend's health, but was interrupted by a well-timed text message. According to AJ, Tezz was beginning to stir and had asked for his friends before passing out again. Sure enough, within moments, a nurse was at their side and escorting the group back to Tezz's room. The Russian was unconscious again, and there was no guarantee he would awaken any time soon, or even at all, but they refused to leave his side. Now their only option was to wait, exhausted as they were, for an hour that was less likely to come every second. Standing in silent vigil against the permanent loss of their friend, they understood that the longer Tezz was out, the more likely it was that he would never recover. There was nothing that could make them abandon him.

* * *

It was his birthday; he was turning four years old. He thought he could hear wind chimes. A light snow was falling, but the wind had died down, and the evening was not altogether unpleasant. The little boy happily clutched his father's hand, following obediently down the lane as they left the bakery with a small chocolate cake that the boy was eying with open greed.

"Now, Tezhulah," his father chided affectionately, "You have to wait until after dinner."

"But I want it now! Oh, please, Papa, just the cherry on top?"

Sergei Volitov smiled and patted his son on the top of his head. "Soup first, Tezhulah," he chuckled. "Then we can have cake."

The little boy beamed; he simply adored his mother's homemade matzo ball soup, and the chill in the air made it the perfect night for it. He rubbed his cold little nose with his mittened hand, eagerly listening as the wind chimes got louder, meaning they were closer to home. But something was wrong. Still louder grew the sound of the wind chimes, louder, and even louder than that, until Tezz had to cover his ears.

Sergei paused as he opened the door of the modest home, turning to look quizzically at his son. "What is wrong, Tezz?"

He never saw the shot coming.

The soldier came crashing back through the door with Marinskaia Volitov's hair in his grip, the young mother screaming desperately as she heard the gun go off. The cake box tumbled end over end and landed in a snow bank, now soaked with Sergei's blood.

The boy whined as the ringing became louder still, and the light from the kitchen door growing brighter. His mother reached out for him, but he backed away, suddenly terrified by the light and noise. This was not real. His parents were dead, had been for years. He had gone to the orphanage not long after this memory, his mother and father taken from him. These people were strangers to him, a dream that might never have existed for how short a time he knew them. Tezz turned and ran, ignoring the desperate cries of his long dead family.

The ringing grew louder still.

* * *

"Sir, no cell phones are allowed in this section of the hospital. Please put it on vibrate. This is your final warning."

"Sorry, love," Stanford mumbled sheepishly. "Won't happen again."

Tezz groaned and slowly opened his eyes, immediately regretting the decision to regain consciousness, and not just for the horrible taste in his mouth. Obscenely bright fluorescent lights glared horribly at him from the ceiling, exacerbating the pounding in his skull. He shut his eyes tightly, but now that he was conscious he could hear the incessant beeping of his heart monitor, like the shrill cry of a bird pecking away at his addled brain. Tezz whimpered and fought the urge to curl into a ball, knowing the movement would make his headache worse still. But finally he dramatically put the arm that did not have tubes in it over his forehead.

"Ugh," he whined. "The light is dreadful. Is there a dimmer switch?"

Someone—he thought it was Sherman, but he was not really sure—said they had it taken care of, and after a faint rustling, told the Russian to open his eyes. When finally he dared to look, Tezz sighed in relief; the lights were off and the curtains were drawn, thank goodness, and the pounding in his head subsided a bit.

Spinner smirked as he looked over Tezz's chart. "Dude, your middle name is Sir-gay-a-vich?"

"It is a patronymic, as is custom in Russia," he explained tiredly. "My father's name was Sergei, so I am Tezz Sergeiovich, just as Teresa's middle name is Marinevna, after our mother."

Spinner giggled, replacing the chart to the end of the bed. "Heheh, Sir-gay-a-vich."

"Sare-yay-o-wich!" Tezz corrected. He shook his fist in annoyance, but the blood pounding in his head made the room start to spin and he lay back down. He groaned pitifully, clutching his skull.

AJ gently seated himself on the bed next to his lover, rubbing his shoulders. He took poor, ill, Tezz into his arms, stroking his hair and making soothing sounds. "You're going to be all right," he said softly.

Tezz whimpered and cuddled against him, trembling; the agony in his head only intensified. "Ohhh," he moaned. "Kill me now."

"We almost didn't have to," Spinner quipped. "Dude, when we got you here, you were legally dead for twelve seconds."

AJ tightened his embrace, saying nothing. Tezz stared at the elder Cortez in confusion. He let out a nervous chuckle; surely this was one of Spinner's poorly timed, tasteless jokes? But one look at Sherman confirmed the truth. The Russian opened his mouth to speak and coughed, his throat suddenly dry. AJ leapt up to get him a glass of water, returning swiftly to his side and renewing his embrace. Tezz nodded gratefully and drank deep, coughing and wiping the water from his mouth.

"I died?" the Russian asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at his friends, ignoring the pain he was in, desperate for an answer. "I _died?_" he asked more forcefully.

"You really scared us, Tezz," AJ said gently, kissing the top of his head.

Tezz looked around at the grim, fearful faces that surrounded him. Sherman's and Spinner's concerned frowns filled him with guilt. Vert wore a forced, tight-lipped smile as if he were barely keeping a lid on things. Agura gazed down at him with motherly disappointment, worried for him but knowing he was capable of doing better. Stanford and Zoom each looked at him, or each other, or their friends, in complete bewilderment, as if any object or person they laid eyes on might explain the situation to them in a way that would set them at ease.

But by far, the worst was AJ. It didn't matter that he refused to look directly at Tezz or that the room was dim; his lover could see the fear in his countenance as plain as day. The Canadian's red eyes and blotchy face betrayed how hard he had been crying, even if he was calm for the moment. And as Tezz touched his cheek, AJ buried his face in the crook of Tezz's neck, holding him as if he were afraid to let go.

"They weren't sure you were going to wake up," AJ stated in a detached monotone. "The doctors were worried you might have brain damage. I almost lost you."

Tezz blinked away his tears. "AJ…"

"Don't ever scare me like that again," the platinum blonde demanded, his voice cracking with desperation.

Vert took this as a cue to give the couple some privacy and ushered everybody out of the room.

Tezz wrapped his arms around his lover and returned his embrace, the only reassuring gesture he could think of. They sat there on the hospital bed, desperate to hold on to each other, snuggling close. This picturesque cuddle was rudely interrupted by the entrance of the attending physician, who did not look at all pleased as he flicked the lights back on.

Dr. Gupta was an old man with dark caramel-colored skin. Tezz though he was frowning down at them, but the man's massively thick, bright white moustache and eyebrows made it hard to tell. Harrumphing, he straightened his turban and retrieved a pen from the pocket of the white coat he wore over his baby-pink oxford, before finally opening his mouth to speak.

"Do you have any idea how many of you stupid kids I see come through here any given weekend?" he angrily demanded in his burbling Indian patois. "And like you came so close to, a goodly number of them **die** because, like you, they do not know when to say 'enough.' I am sick to death of you college boys who live as if your livers are indestructible!"

Tezz shrank down against AJ, whimpering at the noise. "I made a mistake," he said feebly.

"And another thing! You are already very underweight! Do you really think you can afford to vomit with detriments to your health? You were dead for precisely twelve seconds. Had we been unable to revive you in time, you could have suffered permanent brain damage and been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of your short, miserable life." Dr. Gupta leaned so far down his turban nearly fell off. "What is wrong with you? Do you think your fiancé here would rather tend a gravestone than your adopted children? Did you stop to consider your family at all, you selfish ignoramus?"

Tezz's eyes widened as he looked from the doctor's irate face to AJ's pained expression. At first he had thought Gupta's annoyance with him stemmed from his obvious homosexual relationship, but more than anything the old man seemed to be more disgusted with Tezz's lack of regard for his own health.

Dr. Gupta snorted as he wrote out some prescriptions. "But why should you listen to me, anyhow?" he asked sarcastically. "I'm just a withered old Bangladeshi with four medical doctorates. What do I know?" He shoved the papers into AJ's hands in annoyance, glaring at the Canadian. "He needs to put on more weight, but do not just give him any old junk food. Make sure he gets lots of fruit and vegetables in addition to extra protein, and do not let him drink alcohol. And I do not care if you have to drag him kicking and screaming to the follow up appointment at my private practice, just get him there. Good day to you, sirs."

AJ accepted the prescriptions the doctor handed him, nodding as Gupta slammed the door behind him. Tezz blushed in shame. He had done a very stupid thing, despite allegedly being a genius. He had to be the smartest idiot ever. He had needlessly risked his life and worried his friends. He had _died,_ for crying out loud. The Russian could not understand what had come over him, why he had suffered such an out of character lapse of judgment, why he had felt compelled to keep drinking and antagonize the people who cared about him; least of all could he understand it now, when he had such a throbbing headache and just wanted to go home. Tezz resolved to sift through the data later, after he had rested for a time. Right now, he had only enough energy for one inquiry, and he would use that energy for the most important discrepancy.

"I do not remember you asking to marry me," he said worriedly. "That could be a sign of brain damage. What is the date? I must determine how much time I've lost."

AJ blushed and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, I actually just made that up so they would let me in while you were being treated." He shivered. "I was really worried about you, and these two big Jamaican guys in scrubs tried to drag me back out. All I could think about was you in there all alone, and what if you died and I didn't—" His voice broke and the tears dripped down his face.

"AJ," Tezz said softly, caressing his face. "AJ, look at me. Please, AJ."

Finally, the platinum blonde did what he had been avoiding since he had arrived at Blessed Angels and gazed at his lover's gaunt face. Tezz's eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his cheeks were sunken and hollow, and he looked smaller and frailer than ever in the oversized hospital bed. Tezz had been super-model thin before, but two days of drinking on and empty stomach and a night of profuse vomiting had taken their toll, giving him the skeletal appearance of a cancer patient. The Russian didn't just look sick, he looked like he was _dying,_ and it destroyed AJ every time he saw his clammy, gray complexion. He choked back a sob as their eyes met.

"You're not allowed to die before I do!" AJ insisted through his tears, hugging Tezz as if his life depended on it. "Seeing you all limp on the table while the doctors were working was awful! I can't go through this again, Tezz! My heart can't take it!"

"AJ, I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, kissing his cheek. "I'm so sorry I worried you. Please don't be angry."

"I'm not angry, I'm scared! I've never been this cared in my life! I love you so much, Tezz! I don't want to lose you!"

Tezz melted at his words despite the volume making his head scream with agony. "I love you, too, AJ," he soothed. He held him close and they snuggled in silence for a time, until an idea occurred to Tezz. "You know, in case I do become sick at some point, or perhaps if something happens to you, having to lie to the doctors is quite inconvenient."

AJ nodded, wiping at his eyes.

"Perhaps we should make it so we are telling the truth," he said. "The only problem is that Nevada currently has a ban same-sex marriage and the domestic partnership law is vague enough that the insurance company might not recognize it."

AJ shifted, sniffling, so as to get a better look at him. "Tezz…"

The genius smiled. "Of course, same-sex marriage has been nationally legal in Canada since 2005. And if we were to be married up North, your mother could attend."

"Oh, Tezz!" AJ enthused, kissing him full on the mouth. After a moment, he pulled away, coughing and sputtering. "Ugh, that is vile!" He leaned in for another kiss.

Tezz pulled away laughing. "If it is so vile, why did you insist on kissing me again, you adorable fool?"

"Because I love you that much," AJ said. "Now hold still. I want to kiss you some more."


	12. Homecoming

A/N: I'M BACK, BABY! OMG so we were looking at getting an apartment but it didn't work out and I can't find a second job and blahblablahblah stuff. You would not believe how STUCK I have been, and also how much I have to do! Between trying to find time to write, looking for another job, switching over physicians, working on my costume for UBCon and preparing for my event (I am still awaiting approval but I hope to run a showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and all the audience participation it entails.) I have just not had time or concentration enough to sit down and write. But now this story is actually finished! This isn't the last chapter, I will post that tomorrow evening, plus the epilogue. Hopefully by then I'll have had time to work on other stuff, too.

* * *

Tezz fled as soon as he was cleared to be released, but not before a nurse harangued him on the dangers of excessive alcohol consumption. Young Mr. Volitov was ordered by Dr. Gupta to attend a drunk-driving lecture, but did not tell him it was to be held at the Handler County Morgue; he was further instructed that he needed at least three days of rest, and that his body required a higher calorie diet with more fruits and vegetables. By the time his friends and fiancé had gotten him home, he had already been banned from battle zones and remanded to his bed, where AJ brought him everything he asked for and fussed over him constantly. This setup lasted for the few short hours it took Teresa to arrive through a storm shock, at which point she and AJ competed constantly for the right to govern Tezz's health regimen. Between the pair of them bickering and being all cooped up without access to his laboratory, Tezz was half-crazy. After a few days, the Russian genius—or at least, the male one—managed to escape with the help of the Cortez brothers. The trio had quite an interesting day and came back refreshed and in a much better mood. But that, as they say, is another story altogether.

Sage was shocked and appalled that Tezz would do something so idiotic and insisted on running her own medical diagnostic as soon as Tezz was brought to the hub. Though he seemed to be regaining some strength, she still checked on him regularly.

Zoom shrugged off the events of the last few days, at least outwardly, and managed to keep a cool head—unlike Stanford, who was of course bemoaning the weekend as a disaster and whining like a little girl. After a little talk with AJ about their friend's condition, the young monk managed to calm the royal, and all involved went about their business with minimal fussing over the recovering Russian.

Vert and Agura were immensely relieved that their friend was not a vegetable, but since everyone else was worrying after the Russian, they found other things to occupy their time. Vert and Agura were always the responsible ones, after all, practically the mommy and the daddy of the whole team, and they deserved a break. Agura and Vert both worked so hard, and they had earned time to themselves, but they elected instead to spend it with each other. Each had longed for and lusted after the other for almost two years now, only recently beginning an actual courtship, and were now making up for lost time. They spent every waking moment together. The pair went to the botanical gardens, to the movies, for lunch at Lucky Panda; they walked through the park and just talked, sharing everything and stealing a few kisses when no one was looking. The remainder of the week gave their relationship a jumpstart, and by the time the day of Mrs. Wheeler's homecoming came around, they were in even deeper love than they had been before.

Yes, Agura and Vert were had found heaven on Earth, but all good things must come to an end. Finally, that fateful Wednesday arrived, and all was in preparation. The house was spotless, the car was tuned up, and there was a home-cooked family meal waiting, anticipating Mrs. Wheeler's arrival in time for an early dinner.

There was one catch in this plan, however—our hero's lack of ability to properly tie a Windsor knot.

"Oh, come on!" Vert yelled, angrily throwing the annoying strip of fabric down in disgust. Or at least, he tried to; somehow, the crimson one had managed to tangle it around his own fingers and he now struggled to remove it. He stood there, grumbling and fussing, until Agura came along and took his hands. Calmly and patiently, she untied the knot and smoothed out the fabric of the tie, putting it around Vert's neck and using it to pull him down for a kiss. Vert murmured and parted his lips for her, letting his hands move down to her hips. Good God, she was so warm and soft, and she tasted _amazing._

By the time Agura had ended the kiss, Vert was completely relaxed and peaceful, all the anger drained right out of him. While he stood there grinning, she took the opportunity to loop the red silk into a flawless half-Windsor. The huntress stood back to admire her work with a chuckle. "And Mom said learning all those rope snares was a waste of time."

Vert grinned. "I bet those knots have aaaaall kinds of practical applications," he remarked stupidly. _Oh, real smooth, idiot!_ "Not like I'm assuming you're into bondage or anything! I didn't mean anything suggestive, or. Um. Y'know, I'm just going to shut up now."

"Good plan." Agura kissed him on the cheek. "And don't be so nervous. What's the big deal? So your girlfriend is going to meet your mother. People do that all the time."

"Not like this." Vert sighed. "I don't know if I can do this."

Agura gave him a stern look. "Hey. Stop it, okay? You're going to be fine. And I promise I'll be right at the house, waiting for you." But then, she thought better of her statement and amended it. "Unless there's a stormshock or other emergency, in which case duty calls."

Vert flinched. "Oh, yeah! Well, that goes without saying."

"And your mother and I will probably get along fine," she said. "Unless she'd be pissed that you're dating a black girl. Sometimes older white people are weird about that."

"Um, I don't _think_ that'd be a problem…"

"And even if we don't and she decides to try and drive me off by pretending to be an overbearing beloved smother," the huntress teased, "at least I'll probably get a good laugh when she shows me your baby pictures."

"Okay, now I'm more worried than before." He chuckled. "Wow, and I thought _I_ was bad at this."

They both laughed and shared a quick hug. "Hurry back, okay? I wanna cut into that cake Sherman made for her."

Vert promised he would return soon and kissed her on his way out the door. After a nervous day of setting up the house for a nice, quiet, welcome home dinner, Vert waved his friends goodbye and went to find his mother.

* * *

Janet gently and deliberately closed the back of her small, tasteful hoop earring and realized she was finished. She was dressed and ready, and now there was only but to wait. Nervously, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes; after a long moment, she exhaled and opened them again to look in the mirror.

It made her feel strange to wear normal clothes again. It had been so very long since she had worn anything but the asylum uniform, so long since she had been allowed makeup or jewelry. And here she was, all dressed up like she was ready for church, on the day she was set to be freed. Needless to say the outfit she had been wearing on the day of her incarceration had not even warranted consideration for such a day. Janet mused that the jeans and t-shirt she had arrived in might have been more comfortable, but the thought was dismissed as morbid; what kind of message would it send about her resolve for a better life if she wore the same casual clothes she had worn while taking a man hostage? Those comfy paint-stained jeans, that Iron Maiden tee shirt, and her favorite pair of combat boots represented everything she was trying to put behind her: her attempt to temporarily escape her worries and responsibilities through the arts, her lackadaisical attitude towards her own family's dysfunction, and the combative aggression she had inherited from her father (Or at least, this was how she came to understand it after her psychiatrist had opined that these were her most prominent personality traits.). She had to put these things behind her if she was going to get better.

But dressing to the nines always made her nervous. Professional, well-starched clothing was stifling and strict, the norm when it came to church and family functions. Occasions such as these invariably meant Daddy would decide something about the way things were being done was not quite perfect and beat the tar out of Ma or Patrick or whoever he thought was to blame for whatever transgression, real or imagined, and lecture the rest of the family about how next time they were going to do things _right,_ God damn it, instead of embarrassing him like the half-witted little brats they were…

_Sgt. Martin pulled back the hand that held the belt, snorting in disgust as he pushed away the teenage boy._

"_Sean, stop crying or so help me I will __**give **__you something to cry about. I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it. No jury would convict me after what you said in church today!" He turned towards the rest of his frightened family who watched in fear. "And damn it all, Pat, don't even __**think **__this means I didn't see you making faces at the Carter boy. Get over here and take your medicine!"_

Janet frowned.

"I look like a secretary," she sighed dejectedly, impulsively taking her hair down from the tight chignon atop her head and hurriedly brushing the gilded locks back into a single braid that cascaded down to her waist. The more casual style helped her to relax, but only slightly.

A peach blouse, a deep pink skirt, and a string of pearls around her neck were a far cry from what she would have preferred before life on the inside, but the nervous inmate had to put her best foot forward. When Janet looked in the mirror, she could still see the wild girl of her youth; Janet the mother and wife, yes, but also Janet the _bad_ girl—Janet who broke her boyfriend out of military school, Janet who fought tooth and nail with her own father, Janet who _saw_ things that were simply not _there_. But she shook her head to clear it of this sorrow-filled, regretful reminiscing and popped a pill. That was _**not**_ who she was anymore, or the doctors would never have agreed to letting her out. She had to keep her composure.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Janet called in an overly sweet tone, all too eager to be distracted from her own neuroses.

The door opened and her psychiatrist entered the room, smiling peacefully. "Why, Janet," the Hispanic woman greeted fondly. "You look lovely, dear."

The soon-to-be-former inmate smiled weakly. "Thank you, Dr. Mendoza."

Anjelica Mendoza, PhD, patted her on the back in an attempt to soothe her patient. "Today's a big day for you, Janet. Are you ready to go home?"

The lights dimmed considerably, a strange electric hum buzzing through the air. Janet frowned and whimpered, hunching her shoulders, shuddering at the dark. The shadows grew out from the edges of the room as if to reach for her, but she stood up straight and marched over to her window. Janet flung open the curtains to let the sun shine in through the steel reinforcements; the buzzing stopped, the lights came back up, and the shadows were chased away.

Dr. Mendoza clucked in annoyance, glaring up at the light fixture. "I wish the damned state would send an electrician already. These power surges are getting ridiculous!"

Janet exhaled and tried in vain to steady herself, leaning against the window frame for support; she scrambled for anything to say, desperate to chase away the dark that still lingered in her mind. "It's… It's been a really long time since I was home."

"It certainly has, hasn't it?" The doctor sighed fondly. "All those discussions, all those hours on the couch in my office, finally being able to lower your dosage when you calmed down last year; how quickly time flies."

Janet clasped her hands in front of her to keep from fidgeting; fidgeting with your hands behind your back was a good way to get tased, especially if you had once taken out four armed guards using only a pair of tweezers. "Doctor… What if this doesn't work? What if we don't get along?"

"Now, Janet, your son loves you very much. I'm sure everything will be fine." She paused, giving her patient an encouraging smile. "And if you ever have any problems, if you're scared or just want to talk, you can call me any time. I'll be there whenever you need me."

"I'm just worried about how people will see me now," she said. That bad girl from way-back-when blanched; long ago, Janet had known who she was and not cared what anyone thought. Why should that have changed? "No one's going to take me seriously. Everyone in town knows where I've been. They know I'm—"

"We don't use the 'C' word here. You know that."

"They know what's wrong with me," Janet said quietly. _'They know I'm __crazy__.'_

"Everything's going to be _fine,_ Janet," Dr. Mendoza assured her. "You've improved fantastically and your condition is under control. As long as you stay on your medication, stay calm, apply reason to unusual situations, and try to avoid your triggers, you'll do great. Just be open and honest and try to maintain communication with your son and the people around you. Before you know it, you won't even remember this place."

Janet hoped that was true as she looked out the window to see a car she would know anywhere. Into the parking lot pulled a white 1970 Dodge Challenger with a 440 engine and a white paint job, the very same muscle car her beloved Jack had fixed up as an anniversary gift. Her son had come to get her.

"Grab your things, Janet," Mendoza said warmly. "It's time to go."

Janet sniffled. "Thank you, Doctor. For everything."

It had been a very long time since Janet had felt the sun on her face. Today was as good a day as any other to change that.

* * *

Vert waited patiently in the lobby, fiddling with the cuffs on his long-sleeved shirt to keep from fiddling with his tie. Vert hated wearing ties; the collar of his shocksuit was not even as tight as this tie. He would have been at a loss as to how to put the damn thing, on, too, had Agura not been there to rescue him. Why was it that women were always masters in the mysterious art of neckties? Her deft hands hand gently brushed up against his throat as she worked, looping the red fabric into a perfect half-Windsor knot. Vert was mesmerized for those precious seconds, with Agura standing so close to him. Her promise to be there when he returned was probably the only thing keeping him from tearing the accursed thing off.

The other guys had poked fun at him for dressing nicely, but this was a very important day to him. Only the huntress had understood. Vert had effectively been an orphan for the past six years. He had spent even these two years with the Battle Force 5 assuming he would never get his family back; his father was probably dead and his mother was irrevocably insane. But Janet was getting better, and it had only been a few short months since Vert had last seen his father alive. With a little luck, the Wheeler clan would soon be whole again, and today was the first step towards that.

And then he saw her.

She looked so…_composed, _so calm and collected. Janet stood there in her blouse and skirt, looking more like a prim and proper librarian than the eccentric art teacher she had been. The afternoon sunlight filtered in through the front window, catching the wisps of golden hair that framed her face, and Vert knew in that moment he was seeing her as his father must have seen her: a strong and beautiful woman.

He tried hard to stay calm, but tears were already welling up in Vert's eyes and he was overcome with emotion. With a sound halfway between laughing and crying, he took her in his arms and held her tight.

Janet hugged her son, a simple gesture of affection that she swore she would never take for granted again. When they pulled apart, she was smiling. "Did you have a nice drive here, sweetie?"

Vert chuckled, wiping at his eyes. "Y-yeah, nice enough," he said. "But it's a lot nicer going the other way. Care to join me, Mom?"

"I'd love to," she sniffled. "Let's go home."

A stout orderly carried Janet's meager belongings out to the car, closely trailed by mother and son. In due time, the pair was in the car and whisking off to the Wheeler family home at 7 Hollow Road.


	13. It's a Family Affair

A/N: And here's the next update, because I know how behind I've gotten on this stuff, and I wanted to get it all taken care of in quick succession. It's not a rush-job, I just have been tweaking it for WAAAAY too long. So here is chapter 13!

* * *

"Oh, come on! Please?" Spinner begged, giving a goofy smile.

Sherman clenched his teeth and valiantly kept from rolling his eyes. "Bro, I know you mean well," he said in as polite a tone as he could manage. "But yelling 'Surprise!' to a mental patient with a history of violence is a very bad idea. We don't want to startle Mrs. Wheeler."

Spinner blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Um, I knew that."

Stanford snickered at this exchange, heading back to the kitchen to get some more orange soda. What a surprise, indeed; a group of strange young people in your house, none of whom you've ever met, and the distinct possibility that their 'fancy watches from Japan' will start talking to them. No, Mrs. Wheeler was in for enough of a surprise as it was without these strangers actually shouting the word.

But apparently, Stanford was _also_ due for a bit of a surprise. Checking her reflection in a window was none other than the team's resident tomboy, Agura Ibaden. The huntress fussed with her calf-length skirt, making sure the seams were straight. As she lifted up the hem slightly, he could see the nice sandals she had on, the turquoise accents on which complimented her daisy-yellow tank top rather well.

"Agura," the Brit said with a slight smirk. "You're wearing a skirt."

She sent a scowl his way, crossing her arms. "Yeah, last time I checked. You got a problem with that?"

He smiled in that serenely radiant sort of way most nobility are forced to master before their tenth birthday. "Not at all, love. I think you look quite pretty. In fact, I think I quite prefer this to the slinky little number you had on Saturday night. It's much more respectable."

Agura blushed furiously and muttered under her breath, lightly punching Stanford in the arm, but she could not keep the smile from creeping onto her face.

Stanford grinned and shrugged. "Of course, you don't look as good as I do, but who does? It's not easy being this handsome and charming, always a target on my back because of my dazzling good looks. It's really such a curse to be this beautiful. You should consider yourself lucky to be so much uglier than me."

This time Agura punched him in earnest. Stanford pouted and whined like a little girl, clutching his arm. Agura smirked, knowing he had purposefully said something rude so she would relax; in his own way, the Englishman was helping her. He was like the annoying little brother she never had. (Well, of course she had five brothers, but they were all older than her, and thank god none of them were even _half_ as annoying!) Agura and Stanford had a vitriolic relationship, certainly, but she still counted him as one of her best friends.

There was a knock at the front door.

Agura gave a nervous laugh. "They're here!"

"Right, then, chaps!" Stanford said, clapping his hands. "Everyone to the basement exit. Let's give the family some privacy."

Zoom looked up from his spot relaxing on the couch. "Oh, come on! Dude, we just spent all this time getting the place ready and helping out with dinner!"

Stanford smirked imperiously and inclined his head towards Agura. "But Vert needs to introduce his girlfriend to his mother, and that's tough enough without the likes of you ruffians about. Now, scoot before I get a rolled up newspaper!"

The guys grumbled but did as they were told.

Agura breathed a sigh of relief; now she had six fewer things to worry about. "Thanks, Stanford."

"Well if anything goes wrong now," he said with a grin, "You certainly can't blame it on any of us."

Agura twitched. "Just get in the goddamned basement and get out of here!" she hissed.

Stanford chuckled as he watched her make for the door. With one last look at her he whispered "Good luck, love," and shoved the rest of the guys through the door. As quietly as possible the six young men filed towards the secret entrance to the hub, hidden behind the gun cabinet, and exited the house.

* * *

Janet put on the least awkward smile she could manage as she walked into the…party? No, not a party, just one young lady awkwardly welcoming a strange woman home from the whacko basket. This was no strict formal affair, nor was it a bitchin' kegger or even a family gathering—or as was common with her husband's relatives, a family gathering that turned into a bitchin' kegger. Janet supposed the guest in her home was one of her son's friends.

She tried not to let her disappointment show. None of her friends had shown up, not even Frankie or Maria. None of her old business associates or anyone she had ever sold a painting to, not any of the old faculty members from Handler high. Not even her husband's half-brother, Chris, was there (Granted, Janet had never held a high opinion of Christopher Titus, but while he'd had custody of her son, Titus had always made sure he visited his mother once a month and on every holiday. He had gone to the trouble of driving Vert down himself and dragging him in by the ear when necessary. Janet would never forget that dedication to family.).

Nobody had come to see her. Was six and a half years so long? Had everyone just forgotten about her?

Janet felt a tightness growing in her chest. Of course they didn't forget about her. They were purposefully avoiding her, and who could blame them? She was a monster. Her friends and family had abandoned her and her house was empty but for her son and a single stranger.

The lights dimmed considerably for a moment, the air humming. Her son's friend looked around in confusion.

Janet shook her head and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. "A power surge," she said, faking a bored tone of voice. "Huh. That's weird."_ 'And never mind that they keep happening…'_ It was just a power surge and nothing more, not a signal that _he_ was coming. _He_ was not _real._ Her psychiatrist had told her so every day for years, and she told herself she believed it.

"Especially considering all the work Tezz did on the wiring here," Vert said with a frown. "The hell…?"

The young man's remark brought her out of her thoughts. Janet put on her best harmless smile. "So, Vert, aren't you going to introduce me, sweetie?"

The blonde only looked up at his mother when Agura elbowed him in the ribs. He grinned sheepishly; Janet could see him sweating from across the room, and that was with the lovely air conditioning. He tugged gently on the collar of his shirt, straightening his tie a little and clearing his throat. The older blonde female raised an eyebrow at the little show meant to buy him time while he composed himself and fought the urge to tap her foot.

"Mom," he said, clearing his throat again after his voice cracked. "Mom, this is Agura."

Of course! Now it all made sense. _'That's why she's the only one here!' _She knew in that moment she was wearing the stupidest smile in history and she did not care. Vert's nervousness meant he had a girlfriend. A girlfriend meant the potential for marriage. Marriage meant GRANDBABIES. Janet looked over to the girl who had nudged her son forward.

Agura was a few inches shorter than Vert, but this lack of height didn't make her look helpless. She had an athletic build with healthy curves, like a copy of the Venus De Milo had been molded from solid milk chocolate. Her heart shaped face sported a nervous smile between a soft pair of lips, overseen by gorgeous, long-lashed, chocolate- brown eyes. From the scent in the air, Janet could tell she had used cocoa butter for her lotion. So much about her screamed chocolate that nine guys out of ten would be desperate to know if she tasted as good as she looked, and her innocent face only made her more luscious. No wonder Vert had been so shy about mentioning the girl before; she was a knockout! Usually, the older woman would be worried about her son dating someone so stunning; sometimes pretty girls could be so selfish and evil. But she looked as if she felt so awkward in that skirt that Janet sympathized with her.

Her personality had yet to be revealed, but in the looks department, her son had won the lottery.

Janet smiled sweetly, fighting the urge to coo in pure joy. "You are so beautiful," she said, holding out her arms. Gently she hugged the girl, afraid her reputation would drive her away. "It's so good to finally meet you, Agura," she sighed. The older woman turned to her son. "You didn't tell me how pretty she was!"

"There aren't enough words in the dictionary," he said. All the tension drained out of his features. He loved Agura, and he would stay with her regardless, but it took a lot of pressure off to know his mother didn't immediately disapprove.

Janet noticed the cake and suggested they have dessert first while they broke the ice. Vert and Agura caught Janet up on local events, each in turn expressing great regret over Roy Cash's crimes and their effect on the community. They spoke awkwardly of musical preference, of new movies that Janet had missed while she was away, and Agura inquired about Janet's possible return to the art world. And finally, curious, Janet asked about the friends Vert had said were staying with him.

The blonde gave the names of all his friends and explaining that they all lived in the 'rooms' he'd had put in under the garage, as he had previously mentioned. This was his cover story where his mother was concerned. Janet seemed to brighten a bit when he told her he thought they could invite her friends and family over another day after getting settled in. According to the young man, his uncle Chris in particular wanted to congratulate her on her release, but Vert had wanted to give his mother time to adjust to her new surroundings. Agura confirmed that the original plan had involved a bigger party until someone called Stanford had suggested something smaller might be more comfortable.

The relief was palpable. A big part of Janet's nervousness concerning her return had revolved around the idea that no one wanted her back. After all, she had behaved in an irrational manner and done some regrettable things, hurting her family in the process. People were probably still very scared of her.

After a time, though, Janet mostly tried to stay quiet and not make any sudden moves. Ever since she had walked in the door, her own son had been eying her like she was going to explode any second. Even as she forced a polite smile and nodded gently, she felt his piercing stare. She barely listened to any small talk and anecdotes about Agura's family because she was so distracted by the gawking she was on the receiving end of, until mercifully, the dinner was finally over. They chatted for a while over coffee, and though Janet chose not to say so aloud, she decided that Agura was a nice girl she wouldn't mind having for a daughter in law.

Vert gave one last look over his shoulder and waved goodbye to his mother as she locked the door for the night. Relieved, he picked Agura up, spun her in a circle, and held her tight, laughing the whole time. The normally dominant huntress squealed happily, putting her arms around his neck.

"I think she really likes you," he said excitedly, kissing her on the cheek.

"Put me down, you big ape!" she giggled. "And of course she liked me! I told you everything would be fine."

The blonde snickered as he set his love gently on her feet. "Okay, yeah, so you were right."

Smiling like only young lovers can, they walked off to their cars.


	14. Epilogue

Janet was grateful to Vert and Agura for trying to make her feel welcome, but the fact that they were doing it in her own house rather cheapened the effect. A long and largely sleepless night combined with the nervous, jittery day, and the calming buzz of her medication, had left the woman exhausted. With polite goodbyes and a sweet, motherly smile, she showed her son and his girlfriend out. Janet gave her darling little boy a kiss on the cheek and locked the door with a sigh.

The woman laughed. She had survived the awkward family dinner from hell.

"Oh, thank Christ that's over," she groaned, smoothing back her hair. Janet unceremoniously kicked off her shoes and made her way upstairs. Now that those damn kids were gone, she could finally relax. She hit the lights as she went, drowning the house in darkness and shadow. Janet unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off, not caring as the sleeves got turned inside out, and tossed it over her shoulder. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall past her hips, stepping out of it as it hit the floor along with her panties, and did not even look to see where her bra landed. Now that she was free of the constant scrutiny of her doctors and the orderlies, the freedom of making a mess in her own living space with no one to enforce consequences was a sweet victory. About the only thing the tired woman did with any measure of care was put away her jewelry; gingerly she hung the pearls on a stand on her dresser and placed the earrings in a box, but she left her wedding ring on her finger. Once all of that was out of the way, Janet grabbed one of her husband's old t-shirts and pulled it on to sleep in.

As she lazily walked to the bathroom, Janet yawned, stretched, and wondered if she could bear to live here by herself. The big, old house felt so empty now that she was there by herself. She sincerely hoped Jack would be home soon, because if she had to spend more than a few nights alone in this place, she was going to lose it. Again.

Come to think of it, Vert had yet to really explain exactly where Jack had been all this time. What excuse could that man possibly have for disappearing the way he had? Janet had been so desperate to see her husband again that she hadn't questioned it when Vert told her he was coming home, but now that she was alone with her thoughts, it ate away at her. Where did Jack go? Where had he been all this time? When was Jack coming home? Had Vert lied about his return to make her feel better? And even if it was true he was coming home, why had Jack left in the first place? Janet had more questions than answers. Her head was pounding with the effort of trying to figure it out and it was getting late. With an annoyed grumble she shrugged it off and began flossing, because, hey, she was crazy, and she was exhausted, but that was no excuse to give up on dental hygiene!

Janet opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve her toothbrush, but paused when she heard a noise. The noise did not continue, however, nor did it repeat. She figured it was nothing to worry about and closed the cabinet. Suddenly, Janet screamed and whirled to look behind her. There was no one there now, and she was safe, but she could not stop shaking.

In the mirror, she had seen a faceless man in a black suit, the same one she had been seeing for years. But he wasn't looming in the shower, as had been reflected in the glass. And he was not waiting to reach a clawed hand through the mirror and pull her through to another world, as he so often had in her darkest nightmares. He was not there anymore. He was not real. No matter how afraid she was, no matter what she saw or thought she saw, the faceless, featureless man was not really there.

Janet shook her head and took a double dose of her medication, hitting the lights and running to her stereo. She cranked up a Judas Priest album as loud as it would go, allowing the screeching vocals of Rob Halford to wash over her at a soothing ninety-three decibels, and focusing on memories of better times. There was no way she could sleep—how could she, with the specter of some imagined thing mocking her, demanding her soul? The older blonde surrounded herself with the brightest of lights and the loudest of sounds, hoping to stay awake lest she be dead before dawn, acutely aware that her exhaustion could render her helpless at any time—helpless before the outstretched, too long arms of the eerie, silent, slender man who haunted her nightmares.

Maybe he was real, or perhaps he was not, but in either case, Janet was sick and tired of this shit.

"God damn it_,_" she murmured, whining softly and putting her hands over her face. "I was getting better. I'm not supposed to have to do this anymore. Why do I have to live like this? Why can't I be sane? It isn't fair."

Whether she liked it or not, she was _Living After Midnight_.

* * *

Author's note: Ninety-five decibels is about as loud as a jackhammer fifty feet away, and sustained sound in the range of ninety to ninety-five decibels can cause permanent hearing damage. The average rock concert gets to be around eighty-five to one hundred, with the loudest ever recorded at one hundred and thirty-six. Janet loves it LOUD but this is fiction and a real human would eventually go deaf. Fenrir's Daughter does not advocate the potential loss of hearing caused by such speaker volume. She does however wholeheartedly advocate the violent and fantastical themes of heavy metal music. I'm Fenrir's Daughter, and I approve this message. THE END...For now...


End file.
